


It's In Our Nature To Complicate

by brolinskeep (rou), DarkWolfMoon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Everyone Loves Merlin, Everyone is magical, F/M, Gen, M/M, Magical Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Magical Artifacts, Magical World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 03:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18886723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rou/pseuds/brolinskeep, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkWolfMoon/pseuds/DarkWolfMoon
Summary: Arthur Drake works for the Magical Investigation Bureau, tracking down and securing dangerous magical artifacts. At least, when he has a partner he does. After being forced to take a vacation for lack of work, he stumbles across a smuggling ring. Alone and unable to call for backup, Arthur is rescued by the strangest mage he has ever met. He isn't entirely sure where Merlin came from, but he's determined to find out. The only thing he knows for sure is that Merlin is making him second-guess everything he thought he ever knew about magic.For the Merlin Reverse Bang Round 2 (2019).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brolinskeep (rou)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rou/gifts).



Arthur Drake couldn't really help the nervous tick of tapping his pen against his desk. Well, he could have, but he really didn't want to. He was tired of sitting behind his desk, and it wasn't like he could leave it for very long. He couldn't fault Gareth for retiring. Honestly, by the time he got to be as old as Gareth, he hoped to be able to retire as well. But the unfortunate fact of the matter was that it left Arthur a little bit of a lurch.

Arthur was a dedicated member of the Magic Intelligence Bureau, decorated for the large and important tasks he and Gareth had accomplished out in the field. He was a mage of true distinction the way most said it, which was what made having to stay at his desk and fill out paperwork that much more unbearable.

He was sure Morgana knew exactly what he was doing. She was only two years older than him, but already she held the position of Head of the MIB. What was more, they were cousins. She couldn't stop him from getting himself into dangerous situations, but apparently, she could stop him from going out without a partner, which was exactly what she was doing.

Arthur had to admit that part of the lack of a current partner was his fault. He and Gareth had a certain dynamic out in the field, the sort of chemistry most partners could only dream of. It was like they could read one another's minds with a glance and understand exactly what to do. He hadn't found it in any of the new recruits, and he wasn't about to split up a partnership like Leon and Percival for his own comfort. He'd been part of the MIB for six years, had spent five of those years walking the streets with Gareth as his back-up, and it didn't feel right going out there with someone he didn't trust, someone he couldn't be sure would watch his back.

To be fair, he had tried the newer recruits, the guys fresh out of training and looking for a veteran to finish training under. In some cases, he knew he was exactly what they were looking for, but Arthur couldn't decide on any of them. He had reasons for declining to partner with each and every one of them.

Casey was too green; he would freeze up in the first fight, and Arthur couldn't afford that in most of the cases he ran. Marcus was a hotshot. He thought he knew everything, which he didn't, and he didn't like being reminded of the fact that he was neither God nor Merlin, and reality would not bend to save his life. Elliot was okay for the field, but his paperwork was absolute shit and Arthur refused to be partnered with someone who was going to make him do all the work in the office. Good instincts only got people so far, but all-around good work was needed.

Of all of them, though, George had to be the worst. George was the sort of person who memorized the book just so he could quote to someone all the things they were doing wrong. What was worse, Arthur wasn't entirely convinced that George had done it on purpose. The man was a machine, incapable or unwilling to express actual human emotions. While he might be technically perfect regarding procedure and a decent mage, Arthur's stomach churned at the thought of running a single case with the man. They would immediately have issues, as Arthur followed and upheld the spirit of the law, where George wanted to enforce the letter of the law. That was one argument Arthur was going to head off before someone even suggested they partner up.

"Arthur," said a voice behind him. "You need to stop glaring at the recruits."

Arthur glanced back to see Morgana standing over him. "I wasn't glaring."

"Yes, you were. And just because you don't want to be partnered with any of them doesn't mean that you should scare them all off." She crossed her arms and sighed. "I know you want to get out there, but glaring the trainees into submission is not going to achieve that any sooner."

"And what would?"

"You know what." Morgana grabbed the chair from Leon's currently vacant desk and spun it around so she could sit down. "It's been four months. To me, it looks like you aren't even trying to find a partner anymore."

"I am," he protested. "It's just difficult!"

"You said that you couldn't work with Aaron because he refused to learn, which is contrary to what others have said about him, and your complaint regarding Eleanor was that she wasn't flexible enough."

Arthur sighed. "Okay, with Aaron, what I meant is that he refuses to learn something that isn't part of the job, and a lot of times we need the kind of knowledge we're not going to find in our handbooks. I can't tell you the number of times I have had to bullshit my way out of a bad situation and the only reason I could was because I knew about more than just being an agent."

"And Eleanor? Did I misunderstand that assessment?"

"Well, she's not quite as bad as George, but she could stand to loosen up on the rules and procedures a bit. Really, I just think she would do better with another partner."

Morgana rested her elbow on the edge of his desk and leaned onto it, staring at him. "I'm sorry we can't turn out carbon copies of Arthur Drake, but that's not our job," she snarked. "If you want someone who can work with you the way you worked with Gareth, you need to train them yourself. Maybe then you'll be happy with the outcome." She sighed and sat up again. "But that's not why I'm over here."

Arthur paused. "Why are you here?"

"To deliver this. If I had anyone else do it, you'd pretend it never hit your desk."

She slipped a piece of paper in front of him. It was the pale blue of most internal memos, and he glanced at the header on it. _Required Time Off_.

He frowned. "I don't need time off."

"I knew you'd say that. You really are too predictable, Arthur. But that's the point of this." She tapped the memo with one blood red nail. "You'll notice it says 'required'. In reviewing your file, I discovered something rather interesting. Not once in the six years you've been working here have you ever taken a vacation. The only time you've had off in all that time is when you were sick or injured enough that you were confined to the infirmary. And even then, you could be found here before you were given a clean bill of health by Gaius. In fact, several times I had Gaius up at my desk insisting that I keep you at your desk to prevent you from aggravating your injuries."

"What's your point?" He had the sinking feeling he knew exactly where this conversation was going to end, and he wasn't going to like it one bit.

"Arthur, I say this because you are my family and I love you. You need to slow down before you burn yourself out. I am perfectly poised to see every bit of your inevitable collapse in slow motion, and I do not want to be the one to explain to Aunt Agatha why you got yourself killed in the line of duty. If not for yourself or for me, do it for your mother. You know how hesitant she was about letting you join the MIB. Don't make her regret it."

Arthur's resolve crumbled faster than his bluster could build up. Agatha Drake was the one person who could always convince Arthur to take care of himself. Even if she wasn't his mother, he would still think she was the sweetest person he had ever met. She was caring and compassionate, but that didn't mean she was weak. As much as Arthur didn't want to disappoint her, he also lived in fear of her righteous fury.

Agatha Drake had only gotten truly angry twice in the course of Arthur's life. Once was when she found out Arthur's father, Uther, was carrying on an affair. She didn't leave him, but she had subtle ways of making Uther regret everything he had done. For most of it, she wasn't even using her magic. No, it was small ways, like how she would make his meals separate and leave all seasoning out. Or she would move Uther's favorite chair just a bit so it would always be different every time he sat in it, sometimes tripping over it as he made his way through the room. He was sure there were other things he wasn't aware of as a kid, but those were the things that stuck out in his mind.

The only other time he'd seen her angry was when someone attacked them because his father had a high position in government. She wasn't supposed to use magic in front of people who didn't already know about it, except in dangerous situations. What cemented the moment in his mind—besides the fact that he and his mother were being threatened—was the fact that she didn't use magic to do any of what she did. She had taken fencing lessons when she was young, and it was mesmerizing to watch her take down all six of the men with just a stick. That was not something he wanted to bring down on his head.

"Fine," he muttered, picking up the memo as though it was going to bite him. Some of them could bite, but not usually one's from Morgana. Family or not, she preferred to maintain some level of professionalism in the office. "Fine, I'll take a vacation."

"Good. At least a week. I'm not allowing a day less."

Arthur would have argued, but he knew it would be pointless. Worse, she might actually decide to add time on to the week she already demanded, just to shut him up.

With that, Morgana pushed herself into a standing position with the grace of an apex predator and stalked away from his desk back towards her office. Arthur started gathering his things and packing up any loose papers in his desk. He didn't really have any active cases, not one that hadn't already been passed over to someone else. And if they needed anything from him, it was easy to pick up a phone and ask for his help. But he'd had four months of spinning his wheels, four months of trying to figure out a new partner and failing at it. Perhaps it was time for a vacation. If he came back to it with fresh eyes, perhaps things would be different.

* * *

Vacation time was so fucking boring. Arthur was reminded by the second day of his mandated time off why he hadn't taken it in the six years he'd been with the bureau. He had managed to finish three shows between the Friday when he left work and this Tuesday evening when he was staring at the blank screen of his TV. He had more or less obliterated his watchlist, run through a couple of movies he had been meaning to see for a while, and his flat was immaculate.

Which wasn't to say it was dirty before. He had never spent enough time in his flat during the week for it to get really dirty, but it was spotless now. His laundry was clean, the surfaces in the kitchen and dining room had all been scrubbed. He had even, out of sheer boredom, washed out the oven and reorganized his refrigerator. Now he just wanted to tear his hair out. He also wanted to scream at Morgana for pushing him into this vacation. She knew as well as he did that most of his life was tied up in his work. And now he was trapped in the day-to-day tedium he spent years avoiding. 

Perhaps he shouldn't have started with watching the items on his watchlist. He usually reserved that for when he was injured or sick because that was the only time off he ever needed. But he never really paid enough attention to the things that came out while he was working to add to the list. He usually relied on the recommendations of others and had run into the inevitable overlap. It wasn't like he could go into work the next day and ask for more suggestions, but it wasn't enough of a reason to call anyone up. Especially not late in the evening, when most of the agents he knew would just be getting home.

With a sigh, he threw on a jacket and grabbed his keys, intending to go out for a walk. If nothing else, at least it was something to do.

It was eight in the evening in the early Spring, so the day was coming to a close in the sort of middling twilight when it wasn't quite dark, but there was a sort of shadow over everything and everyone.

Arthur's feet walked routes he knew well without much thought, and he found himself nearing the MIB offices before he took a turn down another street perhaps more aggressively than he needed to. The scowl on his face was equally unnecessary, but wholly satisfying as people parted like the Red Sea in front of him.

This was not a route he knew anymore. He knew the streets existed, and he may have been to them once or twice, but his knowledge of them was largely academic. Residence buildings and places of business were separated by dark alleys and lanes where the lights flickered on and off. It was not what one would refer to as a good neighborhood, but it wasn't as bad as some of the places he and Gareth had been hunting down leads on artifact smuggling or magical interference.

Maybe it was the thought of working in the field with Gareth that had him paying more attention to the people and the atmosphere around him. And once he was, he could tell that some things were off.

It was not obvious—these things never were until you were two seconds away from getting your head blown off by a rogue sorcerer—but there was something distinctly wrong with an ordinary looking fellow in a black duster walking ahead of him. Arthur had learned to trust his gut instinct—another reason why he knew he wouldn't pair well with any of the recent recruits—and this man was up to something suspicious. What was more, Arthur could feel he was a sorcerer even from a distance.

The main difference between mages and sorcerers was where their power came from. Arthur had been born with his magic, as had his mother and almost everyone on his mother’s side of the family. Being born with magic he could control without a focus made him a mage. For him, a focus could be used to amplify a spell, but was ultimately not necessary.

His uncle Alexander, and apparently the man who was walking ahead of him, had no innate command over their own magic, and were forced to rely on a focusing implement of some kind to access it. Mages and sorcerers felt different because a mage radiated power as a whole being while sorcerers had only one point, the location of their focus.

This was something all agents were trained to recognize so they couldn't be caught off guard by someone they didn't know was magical.

Ignoring the fact that he was off the clock, on vacation, and had no partner or back up, Arthur followed at a reasonable distance, only realizing what he was doing when he’d been following the sorcerer for about two blocks. While he would have preferred to tag the guy with one of the trackers Gwaine made down in the labs, but he didn't have any on him, and the signal would have been enough to alert the MIB to what he was currently doing.

He still wished he had one, if only to draw someone else’s attention so he could leave it to them and not get in trouble with practically everyone in his life.

He paused, continuing to follow as his thoughts tried to track their way back to how he had gotten into this situation. It was about how he usually got into these things. He saw something, followed his gut, and it inevitably led him into trouble.

Arthur suddenly had the sinking feeling that he wasn't going to like how this particular misadventure ended. It was probably going to get him into trouble with Morgana and his mother, even if it didn't end with him in the infirmary. He checked his pocket and sighed when he felt his phone there. If nothing else, he wanted to have some proof to show for whatever it was he had stumbled across. Having a bit of evidence was always better for avoiding the wrath of Morgana. He hoped this was something small, but he knew his luck enough not to put too much belief into it. The reason he was such a highly respected member of the MIB was because his cases, however small they appeared, always ended up being much bigger and much harder to handle. That he was able to walk away from them was a testament to how good of a team he and Gareth were, and how well he understood and applied his magic in a given situation.

Ahead, the man he'd been following turned down one of shadowy alleys near the end of the block. Arthur stopped to apply a disguise spell and one that would make him pass beneath the man's scrutiny before he turned into the alley for himself. It looked fairly normal from what he could see. There was a dumpster against one side of it and a few metal garbage cans on the other side, but the most noticeable thing about the area was how the alley was closed off, running into a dead end. And the man Arthur had been following was gone.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, stretching out his senses to see if he could tell where the man had gone. There weren't many transportation spells, and all of them were far flashier than anyone wanted to be if they were avoiding attention, so Arthur was reasonably certain the man hadn't completely disappeared.

There was a door near the back of the alley that shimmered slightly with magic. It was subtle, far more subtle than Arthur was expecting, but he could feel it. If it were someone normal coming across it, he's not sure they would even be able to see the door.

Sighing, Arthur drew closer to the door, trying to sense anyone on the other side of it. When he couldn't, he decided to take a chance.

" _Aliese._ " The door unlatched quietly, and Arthur pushed it open, prepared to make anyone he found on the other side sleep.

Fortunately, no one was on the other side of it. Arthur chalked it up to the sorcerers being confident in their spell casting that no one would be able to find the door. He couldn't even say they were wrong, as he wouldn't have found it if the sorcerer hadn't led him right to it.

Staying to the shadows, he followed the hallway down until it split off. On instinct, he took the stairs, which led him to an upper walkway over what was clearly some sort of underground warehouse. Below was a small group of people gathered around a series of crates and boxes. Pulling out his phone, he started taking pictures of the people and the things surrounding them.

As he zoomed in on some of the faces, he noticed a few he recognized for previous busts of artifact smuggling rings, robberies involving magic, and even Cedric Provost, who was purportedly one of the leaders of a group of rogue magic users known only as the Black Hand. The other was a woman that no one had yet been able to identify, and no one they had caught was willing to talk.

Arthur had the sneaking suspicion that this was much, much worse than he thought it was, and he was sitting above it all without backup or a partner to help save his ass. This was going to end poorly, and Morgana would alternate between gloating at him and fretting over him. As it stood, he would take the abuse as long as he got out of this alive.

They hadn't noticed his presence yet, and he hoped to get out before they did. He turned to go back the way he had come.

"This is it?" One of the men below demanded angrily.

Arthur paused and turned back, bringing up his phone to record the exchange. The more evidence they had, the better a position they were in to take these guys down.

"This," Cedric replied in a haughty tone, "is but a fraction of what we can provide for you. And let me assure you, it is a choice taste of what I and my partner have to offer you. The Galdre’s Gemod Crystal alone is worth over 800,000 pounds, and that's if you merely sell it. There are people the world over who would pay dearly to know what their past lives were like, to gain some insight into a world they cannot remember." He crossed to a case and opened it. "Would you like to try it for yourself?"

"You must think I'm a fucking idiot." The first man crossed his arms. "Everyone knows you don't touch artifacts you haven't checked for yourself or had someone you trust look over. And I sure as hell don't trust you."

Cedric sighed. "Do what you want, then. Take them, have them checked over to make sure I haven't passed any cursed goods onto you. But you might want to take them elsewhere at the very least. You have been infiltrated by an MIB agent." His head tilted up to look directly at Arthur and he smirked into the camera. "So perhaps you might want to deal with that."

Stumbling back, Arthur cut the recording and started sprinting for the door. Behind him, he could hear the shouting of the smugglers as they chased after him, and the loud howling of wind as someone—presumably Cedric—teleported away. He didn't waste any breath on cursing, though he desperately wanted to. They were catching up and he didn't even have the time to turn and cast a spell at them to try and escape. Teleportation spells, though ideal for this sort of situation, were not nearly short enough or uncomplicated enough to manage casting one while running.

Crashing through the door, he stumbled through the alley and out onto the empty street. Not completely sure where he was and which way home or the MIB offices were, he picked a direction and ran, taking as many corners as he could in an attempt to confuse his pursuers. From the sound of it, it wasn't working all that well.

He turned to look over his shoulder to see how close they were and ran right into someone he didn't see. Arthur tumbled to the ground, cracking his head against the unforgiving concrete, but the other person only stumbled back a few paces. Glancing up, Arthur prepared for a fight, only to be caught off guard. The man standing over him was glancing between Arthur and the sorcerers just rounding the corner. In the moment it took Arthur to register the fact that this person didn't feel magic, the man held up a hand as if that would stop the people chasing him.

And then he started incanting, the words dragging themselves out of his throat and the ambient magic of the air humming with the need to obey him. " _Eorðe, lyft, fyr, wæter, hiersumaþ me. Belūcaþ him!_ "

The result of the spell—it wasn't one Arthur recognized—was that everything in the street and even the street itself seemed to rise up in their defense. The wind was blowing them back, cracks appeared in the pavement beneath their feet and water bubbled up before resolving into ice that made them slid into one another. The cars and dumpsters and loose bits of garbage and debris formed into a wall before the strange mage grabbed Arthur's arm and started dragging him away.

His thoughts were spinning away from him, confusion and relief taking turns flooding his system. He wanted to believe that this was someone from the MIB who had intervened on his behalf, but he would have remembered someone who looked like this.

Arthur took a moment to take in the dark curls and the wiry limbs of his rescuer. He chalked the strange fluttering in his chest to the adrenaline rush petering out. His gut was telling him to trust this strange person though, in spite of the very public display of magic he had put on back there. Those things could be repaired, but if he had time for a spell like that, he should have had time for something smaller and just as effective.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, rather belatedly.

"Back to my flat," the strange man replied. "I know it’s safe, I have a first aid kit there, and I can clean you up. Sorry about knocking you over."

A stinging in his hands brought Arthur's attention back to himself and he looked down at his scuffed and scratched palms. Then, reaching up gingerly, he felt the developing knot on the side of his head. It wasn't too bad—not to the level of a concussion—but it was rather painful.

"You don't have to," Arthur told him weakly.

"No, I knocked you over, I should fix you up. But if you're really worried about this, I've been trained as a practical nurse, but there aren't any positions for it available in the area, so I haven't really done much with it."

"You're a nurse?"

"Well, technically, I'm a bike messenger at the mo'. But whatever keeps a roof over my head and food on my table." He shrugged. "Speaking of, it's just here."

He led Arthur up the steps of a squat building, one that had definitely seen better days. And, from the streets Arthur recognized, it was in one of the shittier parts of the city.

He hesitated outside the door, unsure what was going to come of this. He was running from a bunch of angry artifact smugglers, only to be saved for unknown reasons by this strange mage, a man who didn't, once Arthur was thinking it, have a magical presence at all.

In the end, his curiosity was the deciding factor. If this man worked for one of the other branches of the MIB, Arthur wanted to know how he was able to suppress his magic so thoroughly that it couldn't be sensed unless he was using it. He could only hope that this wasn't the worst idea he'd had that night.

Arthur stepped into the building behind the mage.


	2. Chapter 2

The man's flat certainly fit his neighborhood. It wasn't the nicest place Arthur had ever seen. It was cluttered and a bike was hanging from the ceiling in one corner. The couch in the main room was clearly secondhand, as the wide impression pressed into the cushions were much too big to have been made by his rescuer’s narrow hips.

Tearing his eyes away from the man's ass before he noticed him sizing him up, Arthur glanced around the rest of the room.

A rickety looking bookcase stood against one wall, opposite the window, with the shelves positively crammed with books. He couldn't see what all of them were about, but one of the most obvious was on mythology.

"I never did get your name," Arthur ventured. "I'm Arthur Drake."

"It's Merlin. Merlin Caspar."

"Merlin?" Arthur couldn't really help the laugh that bubbled up in his throat. "I suppose that explains the magic."

Merlin stiffened. "The what?" He glanced back Arthur, and his face was... wooden. The expression on his face was supposed to be confusion, but there was something distinctly disingenuous about it. "Perhaps you should sit down. I think you might have hit the ground hard enough to give yourself a concussion."

Arthur sat. "I don't have a concussion. I know what I saw."

"You'd just hit your head. You probably still had spots in your eyes."

"Spots in my eyes doesn't account for the way everything was preventing those people from getting to us. The ice on the ground and the wind pushing them?"

Merlin turned away, reaching for a large white and red package sitting on an upper shelf in one of his cabinets. "That's not magic. A bit of strange weather, maybe, but not magic." He turned back, and there was something looser in the way he was moving. "Magic doesn't exist." Arthur was about to protest more, but Merlin cut him off. "Look, I want to wash out and bandage your injuries before any infection has a chance to set in."

He decided to drop it for the time being in favor of observing Merlin closely. Arthur was actually rather well known in the magical community, and most people knew him before he had the chance to meet them. That was what came of being one of the best agents in the London branch of the MIB, as well as the son of the Minister of Magical Affairs. Or rather, the Ministry of Extra Affairs as it was known by those who weren't cleared to know about magic.

It had been years since he had gone somewhere people didn't know him by reputation, or by his father's reputation, and the feeling of anonymity was both refreshing and strange. He hadn't expected to go beneath the notice of another mage, especially one whose reaction to a conflict situation were better than some of the MIB's recent recruits. Merlin had to be an agent. Or, though Arthur hoped he was wrong, Merlin was a criminal attempting to draw him into a false sense of security.

"How long have you lived in London?" Arthur asked.

"Only a couple of years. Does it show?" Merlin leaned over his hands, holding a cotton ball dipped in disinfectant, before glancing up gnawing on his lip. "This is going to sting a bit."

"That's fine." Merlin wasn't lying about the sting. It was burning just a bit, for all the liquid being cold. The prickling feeling of it crept up his arm, and Arthur couldn't keep himself from wincing. "It's not obvious," he replied, shrugging. "It's just... well... You didn't recognize me."

"Should I?"

Arthur huffed, and it was almost a laugh. "Well, I am the son of the Minister of Extra Affairs."

"Extra Affairs. That's that ministry that no one knows what they do, isn't it?"

"The people who work in it know what it's for. And the people who need it. It does have another name."

Merlin glanced up again. "And what's that?"

"Surely you know." At Merlin's blank look, Arthur stared at him. "No, you have to know."

"Well, I don't." He looked down at Arthur's hands. "I don't think they need to be wrapped up. The scrapes are pretty shallow, and it would just be awkward to try and put something on them. I would hope I can trust someone whose father apparently works in government to take it easy for a day or so?"

"I am technically on vacation," Arthur admitted with a sigh. "Under protest."

"Oh!" Merlin exclaimed loudly. "You're one of those!"

"One of what?" Arthur wasn't entirely sure he liked the tone Merlin was using. Like he knew exactly what Arthur was like, even after he'd admitted he had no idea who Arthur was.

"A workaholic. Someone who doesn't know when to take a break." The grin Merlin was giving him was wide and open. And teasing. "Of course, I bet that your office couldn't run without you."

"I would hope it could, the number of times I've been injured on duty." He snorted. "Morgana would throw a fit if everything stopped functioning because I wasn't there. She'd probably make me take a longer vacation out of spite."

A frown was creased across Merlin's brow as he pulled back from checking the lump on Arthur's head. "What sort of work do you do that you keep getting injured? Is this a normal occurrence for you?"

Arthur shrugged. "More or less. Less recently because I haven't had a partner."

"You didn't answer my question. What do you do?"

"I'm an agent with the MIB. Usually, my partner and I track down artifact smugglers or chase down threats to the government from our group. Internal threats and things like that. Things that regular agencies and constables wouldn't be able to handle."

"MIB?" This time, Merlin didn't bother to pull back to look at him. Arthur could still hear the confusion in his voice. "Is that anything like MI-5?"

And this was what Arthur had been working to since he sat down. It was slow in coming, and he blamed the bump on his head for some of it, but Merlin didn't know about the Ministry of Magical Affairs, or the MIB apparently, and with the amount of power at his disposal and the ease and familiarity with which he used it, he should have been in on the whole secret. With his instincts, he should be part of the MIB.

"Sort of," he admitted. "But we really only deal with a certain subset of people. Specifically, people who have magic. People like you," he added, turning to look Merlin in the eye.

Merlin paused, his hands still hovering near the lump on Arthur's head from hitting the ground. "Magic's not real." But he didn’t sound as sure of it this time as he did before. And the lie was terrible before.

"No, magic is real. Magic is real and you really should have known before now, but I suppose that's up to me right now." With a sigh, Arthur pulled away and turned to a chair sitting behind Merlin. " _Stol, bregd_."

The chair slid forward and into the back of Merlin's knees, forcing him to sit down.

Arthur smiled smugly at the man's confusion. "See? Magic."

It was as if the dam burst. "How many of us are there? What exactly is this MIB you work for? Is it like magical police or something? Are you the only magical person in your family, or are there more? Where did you learn magic? Can I learn magic?"

Arthur snorted. "You're going to need to slow down if you actually want any of those answered. First, how many of us are there?" He glanced towards the ceiling. "Well, we don't exactly do an official census—most people wouldn't be particularly happy with being singled out for that, and it would be far easier to advertise that magic still exists if that was one of the things on a regular census—but there's about sixteen thousand of us in the UK. How many there are internationally is anyone's guess, but I think the number would be close to two or three million. As much as we try to keep track of things like that, it's still a lot of bureaucracy, and I'm not really involved in all that."

"That's was the Ministry of Extra Affairs if for, I assume?"

"Right. Except for those who have or know about magic, it's the Ministry of Magical Affairs. As I mentioned, my father is the Minister, but he doesn't have magic. My mum does, which is how he came to know about it. I get my magic from her. I take it your parents aren't magical? It's rare, but not entirely unheard of. Usually, there was someone magical back in the lineage."

Merlin shrugged. "My mum didn't have magic, but we don't know about my dad. He sort of disappeared before I was born, and we haven't seen him since. At the very least, I wouldn't know if I met him. Mum's description could fit half the men in the UK."

"Okay," Arthur muttered, more to himself. "Okay, so you haven't gotten any of the information on the magical world at all then."

"No."

"Okay." Arthur combed his fingers through his hair, wincing when he found the bump from hitting the ground. "Okay. Well, this isn't usually my job, telling people that they have magic, and that they aren't the only one with it. Usually, I'm meeting up with the people who know they have magic and abuse it for their own benefit."

"And something tells me I'm not the most normal magic user you've come across." Merlin moved his chair over closer to the table and started packing up the first aid kit he'd laid across it. "At the very least, you seemed surprised I didn't know there were other people with magic."

That was perhaps the understatement of the century. Sorcerers and mages as Arthur knew them didn't come minted with the ability to cast spells they would never have had a chance to learn, but he'd witnessed Merlin doing exactly that. It was either that, or Merlin was lying to him, and Arthur really couldn't believe that Merlin could lie as well as that about this. He had been trained to spot liars, to read it in their magic and in the air around them. And though Merlin's magic was more subtle than anything he'd had occasion to study, it was still there. There was even something familiar about the way it felt. There was no doubting that Merlin was powerful, especially given the ease with which his magic flooded the area when he used it. And yet, when it wasn't in use, it seemed to disappear beneath the quiet yet earnest facade Merlin projected. Assuming it was a facade, but Arthur didn't really see how it couldn't be. There was no way someone as capable as Merlin proved himself to be was as... delicate... as he seemed.

"You've really never met anyone else with magic? No one who taught you anything at all about using your magic?"

"No. Should I have?"

"Ehm..." Arthur leaned back in his chair. He really didn't think Merlin was lying, but there was something terrifying about that by itself. He knew magic without being taught, and it wasn't the sort of skill you pick up by accident. At least, not the ability to cast spells. "Not even from books?"

"You have books?" Merlin asked, suddenly eager. "Can I borrow them?"

Arthur blinked. Holy fuck, Merlin had gorgeous eyes. "Uh, sure. The introductory texts, anyway. You'll probably need some help understanding them though. The language is kind of part of the culture, and it takes a bit to catch up with it."

"Language?"

"Most spells are cast in Old English. It's just... It's the way it's always been done. And the language itself just became part of the magical identity, something we can point to and claim as ours in the modern day."

"Oh." Merlin's enthusiasm hadn't dimmed at all. If anything, his eyes were sparkling now, and it was like looking at a clear lake on a cloudless day. "Will you be able to teach me?"

Arthur shrugged and tried not to let his imagination warp the image of any language lesson he might give Merlin in the future. "I suppose I could. Like I said, it's part of who we are."

Before either of them could say anything else, Arthur's phone started ringing. He glanced down at it, confused and a little bit disappointed that it had interrupted their conversation. He was more confused when he saw that the call was from Morgana.

"Just a second. I think I need to answer this."

Merlin nodded, leaning back and looking at anything but him. It was the illusion of privacy more than the actual thing, but it was nice that he thought to do it.

Swiping to accept the call, Arthur put the phone to his ear. "Is something wrong?" he asked without preamble.

_"'Is something wrong?' he asks. 'Is something wrong?' Why don't you tell me, Arthur? Why don't you bloody tell me?"_

"I'm sorry?"

_"You bloody better well be. Do you have any idea what we're dealing with right now? Have a guess! It's got Arthur fucking Drake written all over it!"_

Arthur frowned, then the events that brought him to Merlin's flat wandered back into his memory. "Oh."

_"'Oh'? That's all you have to say for yourself? You couldn't have called it in?"_

"In my defense, I was going to. I even have pictures of their warehouse if you want them, and the people involved in the deal that was going down."

Morgana sighed heavily, and even just over the phone it made him wince. He, like many others in the MIB, learned to live in fear of Morgana's heavy sighs. _"You were supposed to be on vacation. That isn't an invitation to get involved in an ongoing investigation, and it isn't so you can pursue whatever vendetta it was you had against those smugglers."_

Arthur frowned. "I don't have a vendetta against them. I don't even know them." He paused. "And I wasn't trying to get involved in a case, I had honestly just gone out for a walk."

_"Not a vendetta. It's rather hard to believe that when I'm standing at a scene that's positively saturated with nature magics. A bit louder than you usually go about things, but it looks an awful lot like your style."_

"Ah. That—uh—that actually wasn't me who did that."

_"What? You expect me to believe that some other rogue mage is wandering around tonight. Conveniently going for a walk and taking down fifteen smugglers with some of the most overpowered spell work I've seen outside of your training room?"_

Arthur turned to look at Merlin out of the corner of his eye. "Well, you're going to have to, because that wasn't me. I can bring him in, though. Have him tell you what happened, while I turn over the stuff I got. It's a bit of an interesting situation, actually. One I think you need to hear for yourself."

Morgana was quiet for a time. Silence didn't always bode well for anyone where Morgana was involved. Well, it was usually a fifty-fifty sort of shot, but Arthur usually ended up having to tell Morgana something he would rather not either way. Not explaining was never an option, in or out of the office. _"Fine. I expect to see you and this mystery person you're talking about in my office in twenty minutes. If I have to track you down, you won't like the conversation we'll be having."_

Arthur snorted. "I already hate it, and we aren't even having it yet." He hung up before she could say anything else. Looking up at Merlin, he could see from the furtive glances he gave Arthur that he wanted to know what was going on but was too polite to ask. "That was my boss. She came across the guys who were chasing me. Good job on that, by the way. I'm pretty sure they picked all of them up."

"You talk to your boss like that?" Merlin asked. "And you still have a job?"

"Well, she's also my cousin, so there's more than a little familiarity between us." He smirked. "And rivalry. There's a bit of rivalry between us, which she seems to be winning, given she's technically my boss. But I have a better field record."

"Okay. Is there something wrong? Are you in trouble because of anything that happened back there?"

Arthur shrugged. "Not in trouble exactly. At the very least, I won't be in as much when I explain what happened. You'll need to come in with me to help explain this, and so we can test your magic."

Merlin pulled away from him, a look of alarm on his face. "Am _I_ in trouble? I didn't mean to do anything wrong."

"No, you're not in trouble. Morgana's usually pretty lenient about people who didn't really know about magic and you definitely qualify as that, no matter what else she said."

"What did she say?"

"She said what you did was, and I quote, some of the most overpowered spell work she's seen outside of my training room."

Merlin's expression turned dubious. "Is that a good thing?"

"It means you're powerful," Arthur admitted. "It also means we should have known about you before now. I assume that wasn't the first time you used magic."

"Of course not. I lived with my mum out in Marshfield, so I knew I had to be careful about using it where people might be able to see me, but I never actually stopped using it. But it wasn't really for big things. Making sure I didn't crash while trying to deliver any of my packages, drying off quickly after riding around in the rain, that sort of thing."

"Oh." Arthur stood up. "Then maybe the things you did were too small. We usually pick up on or hear about the bigger things. Smaller things like that usually don't need a lot of governance or cover up." Patting his pocket to make sure he still had his phone and keys, he sighed. "But we should probably get to the office soon. Morgana is likely to throw a fit if we aren't there when I said we be there, and trust me, you don't want to see Morgana when she tears into someone. Sometimes I think the only reason she was made head of the MIB was because people are terrified of what she would do if properly riled."

"I'd better get my jacket then." Merlin stood, then paused. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine. Nothing I haven't had before or will have in the future." The look Merlin fixed him with was a cross between disappointment and shock. "What? I am essentially an officer with some specialized training who spends most of his time in the field. The only reason I wasn't actually out there after them in an official capacity is because I don't currently have a partner." With a shrug, he moved to the door. "I spend my fair share of time for any of the stupid things I do in the infirmary being looked after, and sometimes someone gets in a lucky shot. I'm still alive at the moment, so I know I can take it. When I can't, well, I hope to have a partner I trust to get me out."

Merlin crossed his arms, but he shoved his keys into his pocket and opened the door, gesturing Arthur out ahead of him. Turning off the lights, Merlin pulled the door shut and locked it, before leading the way back down to the street. "Why don't you have a partner right now, anyway?" he asked. "If you're so good, I assume people would be fighting one another to work with you."

Arthur didn't blush, but it was a near thing. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks before he turned away, regardless of the fact that Merlin wasn't actually looking at him as they walked down the street. "I'm, well... I get last say on who my partner is. It has to be someone I know I can work with, you understand?" When Merlin nodded, he continued. "But I don't think I could work with any of the recent recruits. It just hasn't been working, and not for lack of trying."

Merlin hummed and his eyes shifted over to pierce Arthur in place. "And would your cousin say the same thing, I wonder."

"No." He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. "She would say I was being too picky. And she has. It's this way."

Merlin snorted. "That's what I thought." He glanced up and down the street. "Is your office far from here? Will we need to take a cab or something?"

"No, it's just a couple of streets over. Honestly, it's strange that you didn't know about this. I'd ask if you knew how to recognize other people with magic, but I assume the answer would be 'no' since you were trying to convince me I was hallucinating everything you did to those wankers in the street."

"And you'd be correct. Something else I'll need to learn?"

"You don't have to. It's useful for me because I need to be able to track people based on their magical signature and tell when I can use more obvious magic and when I should be more subtle about the things I do. Some people decide to learn it just so they can identify other people in the community."

"Then maybe I should. I didn't even know there was a community until you came around."

Arthur turned onto one of the major streets. They were actually really close to the MIB offices, and he didn't think he'd be surprised if some of the others had seen Merlin around before. Apparently, no one had approached him, which was strange, because he, at the very least, made an effort to know all the mages in the area. But Merlin didn't feel the same as other mages, not even those trained to hide or suppress their magical signature. Even standing right beside him, Arthur could barely feel anything. Merlin didn't feel like a mage unless he was actively doing magic, and then everything just disappeared again as if magic spontaneously occurred without any intervention from a mage.

Maybe they would be able to figure out why. This definitely wasn't a common problem, as they had no record of it and no one he had met or heard of was so... absent when they weren't using magic.

"This is it," Arthur said, holding out an arm to stop Merlin before he continued down the street.

The man glanced up at the building, which was a fairly upscale townhouse that didn't look at all like an office building. "This? Your office is a house? How do you even fit?"

Arthur smirked. "Magic. That, and a fair bit of underground structures, but mostly magic."

"Is that something I can learn? Because god knows I need more space in my flat."

"That depends on you, I suppose, and what you want to put effort into learning." They walked up the steps to the door and Arthur sent a brush of his magic against the knocker on the door. "Come on. I think we only have a few more minutes before Morgana decides to rain hell on me."

Inside the front room looked just like any other townhouse, with a sitting room populated with plush chairs for any visitors. In the corner was one of the agents, not that Merlin would know that. Simon was really only there to ensure that no one who didn't belong in the offices or have business there stayed for any extended period of time. He was the closest thing they had to a receptionist, but most people who came through knew where they were going and what they were doing.

"Thought you were on vacation," he said without looking up, having been alert to Arthur's presence by the spell on the door knocker.

"I am. But Morgana wanted me to come in."

Simon glanced up. "You had something to do with that whole dust up earlier, didn't you? Of course you did," he added, without waiting for an answer. "No wonder her Highness is in a royal snit." Simon glanced past Arthur to Merlin, who was stand with the posture of someone who felt immensely out of place. "Who's this?"

"This is Merlin. Merlin, meet Simon Goodfellow. He's sort of security, sort of our front line of defense should anyone come and assault the office."

Merlin, who had been moving forward to shake Simon's hand, stopped abruptly. "Does that happen often?"

"No," Simon admitted, and his tone was something between disappointment and despondency. "It hasn't happened once since I took the job."

"That's good, isn't it?"

Simon grinned. "Good, but boring. Which is why I spend most of my time reading." He shook Merlin's hand. "So, what brings you here with a hotshot like Drake?"

"I saved his life and found out there was a whole magical world that I should have been a part of and wasn't for reasons that are not entirely clear."

"So, you're a normal-born, then? You should meet Gilly down in the Intro department. He's a normal-born, and self-taught too before we found him, so if there's anyone here that would understand what you're going through, it's him."

"I forgot about Gilly," Arthur admitted. Perhaps that could explain Merlin. Though he'd been surprised that they had books on magic. Gilly, as best he could recall, had stumbled across a couple of magic texts in a used book store or an estate sale or something. It was one way to stumble into magic, but Merlin didn't seem to know about even that possibility.

"Arthur!" He winced as the sound of Morgana's voice carried into the front room. "I said twenty minutes! Stop gossiping like an old lady and get in here before I extend your vacation to the end of the month just to watch you slowly go mad!"

"That's Morgana?" Merlin asked.

"That's her highness," Simon nodded solemnly before laying a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Well, it was nice knowing you. I'll make sure Merlin makes it to Gilly after she murders you."

Arthur sighed and gestured for Merlin to go ahead of him. "We who are about to die, and all that shite."

Simon snorted as he went back over to his place.

"You'd better be kidding about that," Merlin whispered. "Because I'd rather not hurt your cousin, but I put too much effort into keeping you alive today to have all my effort go to waste."

"I am. Morgana isn't the type to commit murder. She much prefers attacking my ear drums and my dignity."

Merlin's grin lit up the hallway. "Then you're on your own for that."

Suddenly, though why he wasn't sure, he had the impression that this conversation wouldn't be as terrible as it would have been if Merlin weren't there.


	3. Chapter 3

Morgana was standing behind her desk when Arthur opened the door for Merlin and him to enter.

"Finally," she muttered, not bothering to disguise her annoyance at all. Her eyes caught on Merlin and she frowned. "I don't know you." Stepping around the desk, she extended her hand. "I'm Morgana Sangster, Head of the Magic Intelligence Bureau."

"Merlin Caspar. I'm..." He shrugged. "I suppose you could say I'm new to all of this."

"New to...? Arthur, just what have you managed to stumble into this time?" Her tone was more exasperation than anger, which boded well for the conversation to follow.

"That's the thing," he replied. "I'm not entirely sure." He gestured for Merlin to sit down before him, because that seemed the polite thing to do. If nothing else, this was going to be a rather long conversation, and they really didn't need to have it on their feet.

"Then you're going to have to start at the beginning and tell me everything you did and thought about." Morgana moved back around her desk to sit gracefully in her chair. There was, after all, a reason why most people referred to her as 'her highness' or 'the queen of the MIB'. "I assume Mr. Caspar comes into this at some point?"

"Yes, but not for a bit, if I'm starting at the beginning." Arthur dropped into his usual chair once Merlin was seated. Morgana had joked more than once about getting the plush red chair monogrammed for him, if only she didn't have quite so many people through there every day. "Because this started back in my flat where I have managed to bore myself with everything I usually do when I'm on vacation."

"You mean when you're sick," Morgana corrected. "You haven't taken a voluntary vacation once in your life."

"Anyway..." Arthur heaved all of his annoyance and impatience into that one word. "I was tired of sitting in my apartment, so I wanted to go out for a walk. Not to find anything, just to get some fresh air and not be cooped up in my flat for a few minutes. After a bit, I realized I was walking the route to the office, so I turned down a street I didn't recognize just to do something different."

"So, you did want to work." Her smug grin as she sat back in her chair made him want to shove her chair over.

"Of course I wanted to work. You and I both know I was placed on vacation under protest."

"Even I know that," Merlin chimed in. At Morgana's curious look, he added, "He mentioned it when I was patching him up."

"Ah." Her expression turned indulgent. "Then I suppose that part of the story will come up in time."

"As I was saying," Arthur cut in, "I didn't know the street, not really. I think I had a case in the area a while ago, but we didn't spend a lot of time there. I just took corners at random, trying to stay somewhere I recognized at the very least so I could make my way home. Then I spotted this guy. He didn't look particularly remarkable or suspicious, but I thought there was something strange about him. I could feel the trace of magic on him and decided to follow at a distance."

"Without backup and at a time when you were off the clock." She had started fidgeting with a pen while he was talking and was tapping it against the desk to emphasize her words. "Which is everything you're not supposed to do. Off the clock I could almost forgive, but there is a reason everyone has a partner."

Arthur crossed his arms. "I know that," he spat. "I didn't mean for anything to really happen. I didn't think anything would happen, and I couldn't exactly call it in. Like I said, he wasn't suspicious or doing anything wrong when I saw him. It was just a feeling, and we investigate solely on gut instincts. Then he went into this door that was hidden under an enchantment, and I figured it was something bigger than that. Still, I didn't know what was going on, so for all I knew it was some underground poker game for mages."

"You did not think that." Morgana crossed her arms and rested them on her desk. "You never think it's something so innocent."

"No, but I didn't have any evidence that there was something illegal going on. Hiding a door isn't exactly a crime."

"Perhaps not, but half the MIB is willing to act on your gut feelings, so you still could have called it in."

"I was going to, really I was. I just wanted a little bit of proof first that there was something worth their time there, so I snuck in." He winced at her heavy sigh. Even Merlin was looking at him like it was stupid, which in retrospect, it sort of was. He had no idea what he would find in there and he had no guarantee that the man he was following wasn't aware of him. "Inside, there was some sort of deal going on. I was up above a large staging area of some kind, where they stored artifacts being shipped. They were meeting with Cedric Provost, and talking about something he had given them." He frowned. "Provost was actually the one to draw attention to me. If not for him, no one would have known I was there."

She frowned, but said nothing, gesturing for him to continue.

It was clear enough to Arthur that the presence of Cedric Provost in the smugglers' warehouse was enough to justify at least part of what he did. His involvement would have otherwise gone unnoticed if he'd simply called it in, especially given the way the conversation was progressing. "Provost drew their attention to me. How he knew I was there, I don't know, and neither he nor I stayed to get any answers to that. I was running for the door, trying to make my way to somewhere safe. I didn't have a chance to cast anything behind me. As I was running down an alley, I bumped into Merlin."

"It was a bit more than a bump," Merlin cut in. "We collided and he fell and hit his head. There's a little bit of swelling and he'll probably have a lovely bruise come morning."

"Swelling?" Morgana smirked. "How could you tell given how big his head normally is?"

"Morgana!"

Merlin turned to look speculatively at Arthur, and he could see the laughter in his eyes. "I don't know. I just assumed because he'd also scuffed up his hands when he fell."

"Right, we need to finish this up." Morgana sighed and sat back in her chair.

Arthur and Merlin exchanged a glance.

"Well, Merlin saved me casting that spell, then took me back to his flat to patch me up."

"Merlin cast the spell?" She blinked and turned to him. "As much as I enjoy the fact that Arthur had to be the damsel in distress this time around, I have to say, I wasn't expecting that. Pardon my saying so, Mr. Caspar, but you don't feel particularly magical."

Merlin shrugged. "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel like, or what others with magic are supposed to feel like. I just... did what seemed most natural."

"Natural." She sighed again and massaged her temple. "Goddess help me, there are two of them. Mr. Caspar, how well acquainted are you with the magical world?"

Merlin glanced down at his watch before looking up. "I've known about it for almost an hour now."

"An hour." The flat tone of her voice was as close as anyone had gotten to eliciting consternation in Morgana. She was rather famously unflappable, which was yet another reason why she was in control of the MIB. But Merlin, it seemed, had broken her. "You didn't even know about the magical world when you cast that spell? And it was only one spell?"

"Just the one," Arthur chirped, then shrank back a little when she cast a withering glance his way.

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "No? I mean, I know I had some kind of power, but I didn't really use it for big things. Mostly, I just tried to hide it. People aren't particularly nice if you're different to them. Even if it's something ordinary." He shrugged. "And as for the magic, I knew it would do what I wanted it to do."

Morgana's face twisted up into a wry smile. "Goddess above, we need more people like you. Half the problems we have with mages in their training come from when they don't really believe that their magic will do what they tell it to. And because they doubt it, their magic either goes wrong or doesn't happen at all." She sighed. "But for now, we need to deal with everything else tonight has brought us. The labs are going through the artifacts we picked up after tracing the trail of magic back to that staging area you mentioned, and it's not clear what most of it can do. So, we have to wait a bit on that front. In the interim, we can get you processed and registered, Mr. Caspar. All a formality, of course, so we don't respond to an incident of your magic. In future, however, we will expect you to fix something as extensive as the spell you used on the smugglers. Magic is more or less a secret we are meant to keep, and we can't be having displays like that regularly. Not something that leaves magic as the only explanation."

She stood as Merlin nodded, and led the way out of her office and down to the testing chamber.

The testing chamber was a large, round, white room with a pedestal in the center of it. A wide, flat crystal was embedded in the stone pedestal, and there was a slight impression in it from the thousands of hands that had been pressed into over the last couple centuries. Arthur remembered when he was first brought to the testing chamber as a child. It was his first, clearest memory, being held up by his mother as she let him touch the crystal, how it had hummed under his hand and glowed the most amazing shade of gold he'd ever seen. He remembered how something inside him, which he realized much later was his magic, hummed right along with the crystal, like it was trying to bury itself in his bones and come bursting out at the seams at the same time. He'd been tested a few more times over the years, but never did the experience measure up to that memory.

"This is the testing chamber," Morgana told Merlin, who was gazing about uncertainly. "When you place your hand on the crystal, it measures your magical potential, signature, and any particular affinities or peculiarities regarding your magic. The last bit may not seem that important, but certain affinities can affect how you learn magic, and what kinds of magic will be easier or more difficult for you to learn."

"How exactly does it do that?" Merlin paused. "Besides with magic, I mean."

"Honestly, I don't think anyone knows," Arthur cut in. "The testing chamber has been here since the Early Renaissance period at the very least, when mages and sorcerers first started trying to figure out how our magic worked and how to measure it." He snorted. "Of course, it started as a sort of classism, who had the most power. Now, it's just the way we register everyone."

"Right." He looked dubiously at the pedestal. "So I just put my hand on it, and it tells you all about my magic?"

"That's correct." Morgana took a step back. "Do you want us to leave, or would you prefer we stay here?"

"You can stay. It seems simple enough."

Merlin was hesitant as he stepped forward and held his hand above the indentation in the crystal. Then, slowly, he let it rest on the pedestal.

White exploded in Arthur's vision, so bright it burned his eyes, and he brought his arm up to shield himself. Magic, raw and heavy, pushed over and through him. He staggered back, gasping for air against the pressure of wild magic on his chest. Almost as suddenly as it was there, the magic vanished, and that was just as painful as its sudden presence. He was still trying to blink the spots out of his eyes for the next few moments, waiting for the world around him to resolve into something other than white.

"That's never happened before," Morgana remarked somewhere off to his right. Apparently, she'd had the presence of mind to look away or cover her eyes since she could actually see.

"It hasn’t?" Merlin asked, voice suddenly tentative.

"What hasn’t?" Even as he asked it, his vision was starting to clear, and he saw what they were looking at. The crystal in the pedestal had gone dark. It wasn't displaying any of the information it should have been. "Oh."

"Did—did I break it?" Merlin shuffled back a couple steps.

"I don't think so," Morgana said gently. "The color seems to be coming back already, but we probably shouldn't do that again."

"Wasn't planning on it." His eyes were still fixed on the darkened crystal.

It was slowly getting brighter, but still there was nothing that should have been there. According to everything Arthur knew, it should have worked. The flash of light that blinded him was unquestionably magical, and the sheer weight of raw power had practically suffocated him for a few moments there. But there was nothing, no measure of scale or potential, no clever little display showing how Merlin's magic worked. But he supposed that was to be expected. Since the flood of magic was enough to utterly overwhelm him, perhaps it had been too much for the crystal.

When it looked more or less normal again, Arthur tentatively reached out and placed his hand on the pedestal. He, after all, knew what the results would be.

The room turned gold. The familiar rush of his power filled it, pushing at his utmost limits, before flowing back into the crystal. As Arthur took his hand away, the crystal was still glowing, and a small cloud appeared above it. Well, it was small in comparison to the clouds in the sky, but actually fairly large for the room. The size of the cloud was one of the best indicators of magical potential, though not always of whether that potential was utilized as much as it could be. The cloud, though mostly gold, was shot through with veins of silver, blue, and red.

"This is what's supposed to happen," Arthur told him. "Size indicates magical potential, and the colors represent certain affinities. In this case, silver is air, blue is lightning, and red is fire. My magic, via most detection spells is visualized in this same gold color."

"Ah." Merlin studied it carefully, even as it faded. "So magic has different colors based on who cast it. What if two people have the same color?"

"That doesn't happen," Morgana cut in. "Not even with twins. It's a matter of shades of colors, but no two people have the exact same shade of magic. We have ways to record the specific shade for future reference and comparison since it isn't wise to accuse someone of a crime committed by someone with a similar shade of magic, but Arthur's is already on file, so you aren't seeing that part of the process."

"What's yours like?"

"My magic is purple, one of the darker shades of it. Like Arthur, I have an affinity for fire, but I also have magma and earth, while he has air and lightning." She sighed. "But since it doesn't seem to work for you, it doesn't make much of a difference for you." She led them out of the room. "This is going to be a process of trial and error, I'm afraid. I'm sure we can set aside one of the sparring rooms for you to use so you can learn about your magic in a safe and regulated environment."

Arthur pulled out his phone to check the time and winced. "But maybe that's something that should be handled tomorrow. It's getting late."

Merlin pulled his own phone out and checked the time. "Fuck. I have work in the morning."

Morgana didn't bother to check the time for herself, but she sighed. "Then I suppose we should really let you go for the night. Do you have a way for us to contact you? There are a number of things we need to do in order to get you properly registered, and to set up times for you to use the sparring rooms with supervision. For safety reasons, of course."

Merlin recited his number, which Arthur quickly added to his phone and sent a text in reply.

"Now you have my number if you have any questions. I think I can safely say that's all we need from you tonight."

"Thursday is my day off, so I can probably come in and deal with whatever else need to happen then."

Morgana smiled. "I'll make sure we have everything ready for you." She then gestured toward a door behind him. "If you go through there, that should take you back out onto the street so you can go home."

* * *

Once Merlin was gone, Morgana turned on Arthur again. "My office. Now."

He winced. Whenever her tone went as flat as that, he knew he probably wasn't going to enjoy whatever conversation came next. He followed her back upstairs to her office, bracing himself for the inevitable attack.

She didn't say anything at first, moving around her desk to sit in her chair and just stare at him. While he refused to be the first to break the silence, it began to get difficult to keep from fidgeting.

"So," she finally said. "How would you like to end your vacation early?"

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"Oh, if you're enjoying it, by all means, stay away."

"No, what do you mean?" When she didn't answer immediately, still looking at him expectantly, he sighed. "Yes, I would love to come back early. Why are you willing to allow it now?"

"Because Merlin needs someone to train him." She leaned back in her chair and Arthur could suddenly see how tired she was. It was a testament to how much she trusted him that she would let any of that show. "You can come back early if you agree to help him figure out his magic and get it under control."

"Why me, though?" There was a little twitch in her jaw when she was doing or saying something she didn't want to but knew she had to. "Wouldn't it be better for someone down in the office of Introductions to do that? It's literally part of their job."

"So, you aren't going to help him?"

"I never said that! I just don't think I am particularly qualified to introduce him to the magical world. Is there something wrong with the people who are trained for this?"

A dangerous smirk appeared on Morgana's face. Arthur knew it well from their time as children, when she would get something she had done blamed on him. Or when she managed to defeat him in one of their games. Or when she was about to pull something over on him. In retrospect, it was a look she entertained often, and it never spelled good things for him.

"Okay, then. What about Gilly? He joined the MIB in much the same way Merlin has been introduced to us. He probably understands what Merlin is going through."

Arthur frowned. "Not really, though. Gilly learned magic from books and not all of that really translates to personal experience. And he didn't interfere in any sort of dangerous situation, he was just trying to help someone carry furniture into their flat."

Her smile hadn't dimmed. "If it's personal experience you think he needs, what about Archie? He's the oldest member of the department, and he's been helping new mages join the magical world longer than you or I have been alive."

"But he's used to dealing with children!" Arthur felt the need to send a mental apology to Archie, who was a lovely old man with the personality of a wonderful grandpa. "Merlin might feel like we're demeaning him or insulting him being taught about our world the same way one would tell a child. I think he'd much prefer someone who would approach him and teach him the same way they would teach anyone, acknowledging that he is an adult and he is intelligent."

If anything, her smile was suddenly brighter. "Treat him like an adult? Then maybe I should be talking to Antonio."

"No."

"He would treat him like an adult." Morgana's eyes were twinkling now, and that was always when things got worse.

"No. You and I both know the sort of reputation Tony has, and we are not setting that up. He flirts with everyone, and he's slept with most of the people he's introduced. Which is why we only have him teaching adults."

"Now, Arthur, you're overreacting. Antonio would never do anything untoward with any of the people he teaches." Her smile turned lascivious. "Not if they didn't want to anyway."

"No."

"Oh, fine. I suppose that leaves Oliver." She said it with such an artful sigh that Arthur finally realized that she was taking the mick out of him.

"Ollie is an asshole." And although he attempted to say it with all the seriousness and dignity he could muster, it still sounded utterly ridiculous. "He doesn't really care about people, nor is he willing to go out of his way to help them when their having trouble. Literally the only reason he decided to join the office was because he didn't have to do anything to get paid."

Morgana leaned forward, her face suddenly studiously blank. "It sounds to me as though you've already come to a decision about this."

Had he? Reviewing the conversation in his head, he had to admit to himself that he'd had his answer from the moment they entered the office. Vacation was so boring, and he'd manage to get into trouble within hours of running out of things on his watch list. And he liked Merlin. He seemed personable and reliable, the sort of person Arthur could trust.

"I'll do it." He frowned at the knowing look on Morgana's face. "I'm only doing this because I don't think I can stand another day of vacation."

"Good. I'll get everything worked out on my end, and you spend tomorrow getting together everything you need to help Merlin learn about his magic and our world." She stood up, prompting Arthur to do the same. "But for now, I am going to head home because I'm tired and it's been a bit of a long day. Try not to run into any other smugglers or members of the Black Hand on your way back to your flat. I don't want to wake up in two hours with another one of your messes waiting for me."

"I won't."

Morgana grimaced mockingly at him. "Somehow that's less than reassuring. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that a simple walk turned into a criminal investigation and a matter of magical interference." She sighed. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow then."

Arthur couldn't help the grin that slipped onto his face. He knew Morgana didn't want to let him out of the vacation she had finally cornered him into, but Merlin was really too important and too powerful a mage to leave to his own devices, and Arthur had more experience than almost anyone else in the MIB figuring out how to deal with an excess of power. "Yes," he replied cheerily. "Yes, I suppose you will."


	4. Chapter 4

Since he finally possessed a purpose outside of doing paperwork, Arthur spent most of the following day tracking down a copy of everything Merlin would need to learn whatever vein of magic he decided to go into. Which meant that he had collected a lot of books and had them at his desk long before the day was even half over.

This was a bit of a blessing when questions started coming in on his phone from Merlin, things that Arthur hadn't necessarily researched for himself, but found easily enough in the books. By the sixth question, something actually fairly basic about how magic usually presented itself and how they detected it, Arthur had to stop himself from sending a terse response.

Setting the phone down for a moment, he saw Leon arrive. He also saw the exact moment Leon saw him from the double-take he made, before venturing over.

"I didn't think we'd be seeing you until at least the Monday after next, given what you pulled last night." He smirked down at Arthur. "Though I don't know why I'm surprised. If anyone was going to talk your cousin into something she didn't want to do, it would be you."

"I didn't talk her into anything," Arthur corrected. "She asked me to come back."

"And why would she do something like that when she finally managed to separate you from your desk?" Leon glanced at the multitude of books that had taken over his desk, most of them introductory texts. "Are you under review or something?"

"Erm, no. I'm actually going to be training. Training a new mage, I mean."

"Oh. Well, good luck with that." He paused as he was turning away and shifted back. "Why can't someone in the office of Introductions do that?"

Arthur shrugged. "I think it's equal part punishment and necessity. You know she wouldn't have asked me to end my vacation for anything less."

"Not unless she though ending your vacation early would be more of a punishment than forcing you to take one." Leon chuckled. Behind him, Percival arrived, took note of where his partner was, and wandered over.

"Something big going on?" Percival asked. "That's the only reason I can think why you would be here, Drake."

"You could say that," Leon cut in. "Apparently Morgana has him training a new mage."

"Wait, is this the wild mage? The one from last night?"

"Wild mage?" Arthur asked. He really hated being out on vacation, because it meant he missed out on things discussed on their floor, in the office of Misapplied Magics.

"The incident last night with all of those smugglers," Leon explained. "When we tried to get a read on the magic that caused the whole phenomenon that brought them down, we couldn't get anything that actually resembled a magical signature at all. We could get a read on their magics, and a few traces of yours, but the scene was practically flooded with wild magic from that spell. Like someone managed to command the wild magic to do something for them instead of using their own magic."

"Oh." The more he learned about Merlin's magic, the less he really knew. It didn't make sense why it was the way it was, why it couldn't be read like any other magical signature. He was strong, of that they could be certain, but it seemed there was something fundamentally different about the way he used magic. Like the magic used Merlin instead of the other way around. "That does sound like Merlin," he admitted.

"So, his name is Merlin, then." There was a smile on Leon's face that was entirely too much like Morgana's. Clearly, they had been spending time around one another again in their on-again off-again relationship. While it wasn't Arthur's place to criticize who Morgana chose to associate herself with and who associated themselves with Morgana, he wished they would extend the same courtesy to him.

"Yes. Merlin Caspar. And I should really get back to answering his questions." He gestured strongly towards his phone, going so far as to pick it up and unlock it.

Leon and Percival appeared to take the hint and moved off, leaving Arthur by himself, staring at Merlin's last question. _How is it that most mages can tell someone has magic? You made it seem like a learnable skill, but it seems like most people can tell that almost immediately._

He took a deep breath. There was one thing Arthur resented about being given this responsibility, and that was the fact that it was a responsibility. He had been put in charge of the education and well-being of another mage, and he didn't have the best temperament to deal with this situation.

It had all the hallmarks of Morgana's usual punishment. It was multi-tiered, long-lasting, and would probably be ultimately fulfilling.

With a sigh, he started composing a lengthy answer that held none of his frustration because Merlin didn't deserve to be called an idiot for not knowing things he couldn't have known, and if Arthur managed to screw this up and drive Merlin away, he didn't know what further punishments his power-drunk cousin would come up with.

More than that, he didn't want to be the sort of person who would drive someone like Merlin away, with all of his enthusiasm and bright-eyed wonder. Arthur remembered being that kid, seeing everything for the first time, but even he had already known magic was real because his mother used it often enough in the house and never discouraged him from asking questions about it, no matter how stupid or how many times he came to her with the same question. He needed to be more like that.

* * *

By the end of Wednesday, Arthur had answered more than forty questions, given the number of texts he and Merlin had exchanged. Something Arthur found heartening was that Merlin never repeated a question, but he would often refer back to some of the information Arthur had given him and ask a new question for clarification on a more ambiguous point. If nothing else, it was an indication that Merlin was both willing to learn and capable of listening the first time.

It was a refreshing change from the trainees he refused to deal with. They had to be presented with a concept several times before it finally stuck. And perhaps that was an unfair assessment for some of them, but he hadn't met one who didn't come back and ask the same question over again, even with the information in front of them. As repeating himself was a pet peeve of his, Arthur gained the reputation of a dictatorial tutor at best, so most trainees avoided him on principle. Before now, he couldn't say he particularly minded that turn of events. However, since Morgana had put him in charge of Merlin, he had the sneaking suspicion this was payback for driving all of the trainees away.

Merlin would be different. At least, he hoped so.

Arthur arrived early to the office on Thursday morning. Merlin hadn't said when he would be there, but Arthur didn't want to keep him waiting.

The decision proved fortunate because Simon's voice came into his head a mere twenty minutes after he had arrived to announce that Merlin was there.

 _Be right up,_  he sent back, casting a glance around his desk. It was more or less overrun with all of the books, but otherwise clean. With a sigh, he started towards the main entrance of the building.

Merlin was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room when he got there.

"Hi," he said, giving Arthur a small wave.

"Hi. Welcome back. And this time we don't need to detour to Morgana's office." Stepping to the side, Arthur gestured for Merlin to join him. "We're going to go down to my desk to start out."

"Okay. Was that anywhere near where we were the other day?"

"Sort of." Arthur shrugged. "I work in the office of Misapplied Magic, where we deal with people or artifacts that cause problems for others. Generally, I'm working down there, tracking down people on our watchlist to make sure they don't make life harder for anyone trying to abide by the laws of the land. Sometimes we get referred a case from the regular police departments, something that sends up a couple flags that could indicate we're dealing with magic. Naturally, we try to catch those sorts of cases early, before anything about magic or supernatural powers can be revealed. It doesn't promote good relations with the government if we have problems with magical crime spilling into the normal world, which is the whole reason the Magic Intelligence Bureau exists."

The elevator ride back down was short, barely long enough to have that much of a conversation.

Any other conversation that might have happened halted abruptly when Merlin caught his first glimpse of Arthur's desk. His steps stuttered as his arms dropped loosely at his side.

"Oh, fuck me," he whispered.

"What?"

Merlin turned to him with pleading eyes. "I'm not a bad study, but I don't think I can get through all that. Certainly not anytime soon. I just— I don't have enough hours in the day for that!"

Arthur looked at the books on his desk again and realized—for the first time—that he might have gone a bit overboard with everything. There was a far cry between having options and being swamped with a wealth of new information. He had unknowingly crossed that point early yesterday without paying the slightest bit of attention to that line.

"Sorry, that's— No, you don't need to learn all of that. It's just—" he sighed. "Sorry."

"Oh, thank god." Merlin slumped into a nearby desk, barely holding himself up. "If that was going to be a requirement for all this, I was preparing myself to say, 'thank you for the opportunity, but fuck off'. In the nicest way possible of course, but I just can't deal with that sort of workload right now. Not when I wouldn't be getting paid for any of it or anything."

"I get that. Sorry, again. I just— I went out and found introductory texts for every branch of magic I could think of. I didn't think it was... Well, I suppose that just shows you what it's like growing up in all this compared to coming into it all as an adult."

Merlin blanched. "Do you know all of this?"

"Most of it." At Merlin's horrified look, he shrugged. "Like I said, I grew up in this. And I'm not exactly typical. My parents pushed me to work as hard as I could, to learn everything I could or wanted to. I had years to work at everything, and I was already working on bits of this before I started school."

Merlin glanced back at the pile of books with trepidation. "And how much of that am I expected to learn?"

"If you don't want to learn any of it, that's entirely your decision. You seemed to have a good enough grasp of your magic to function without any of this." Arthur waved at the stack of books, which was starting to look more and more like the worst idea he'd ever had. "Why don't we leave these here and I can show you around the offices instead?"

"That might be better." He was still eyeing the stack with the wild look of someone who had spent far too much of their life in books, voluntary and not.

Arthur led him back towards the elevator. "Okay, well that was the main floor for the Office of Misapplied Magics. Basically, ours is the department that deals with anyone using their magic to subvert the law in some way or cause harm. Most often, as you saw on Tuesday, we are dealing with smugglers and thieves. The subdivision I am part of deals primarily with artifacts and those collecting and using them, while another subdivision deals with the more direct conflict between beings. If there is an issue with magical creatures, depending on the severity, it's all hands-on deck. But for the most part, they are intelligent enough to look after themselves."

"Really?" Merlin glanced back at the elevator as they walked out onto the floor containing the Records office. "Is there a book among that small library on your desk about magical creatures? I'd be interested to know what the fairy tales got right."

"There is. Just a sort of inventory of species and general locations they can be found. Most have photos, but some don't want to be photographed, so there are artistic representations of them." Arthur brought his attention back to the floor around them. "This is the Records office. If you want to find out about magical families, legacy affinities and gifts or something like that, this is the place you should go. In your case, since we couldn't get a read on your magic, it might be a good idea to see if you are related to anyone we have on register. See if there are any gifts you might have inherited that might make things interesting."

"I did tell you I have no idea who my da is, right?"

"Which is why we would run an inheritance test."

Merlin frowned. "Inheritance?"

Arthur shrugged. "It doesn't have anything to do with money, I'm afraid. It will tell us if you have any magical blood back six generations. Most people take the test so their records are there, and so any descendants they have will have an accounting of their family going back a few hundred years. Hopefully, we can find an ancestor of yours and determine what sorts of magical affinities we should look out for." Then he frowned. "But maybe that's something we should do another day. I've been told that the Inheritance ritual tires you out."

"Right."

They walked through the offices, Arthur pointing out the people and explaining what they did down there. Part of the Records office dealt with the files generated by the other departments, and there was even a vault for seized artifacts down there. As they were passing one of the labs where they studied the artifacts, Arthur caught sight of Morgana.

He turned to Merlin. "Do you want to say hello to my dragon of a cousin?"

Merlin glanced past him towards the lab. "If it won't interrupt anything."

"It'll be fine." Before any more complaints could be lodged, Arthur was pushing the door open. "Morgana!"

Morgana, who had been facing away from the door, jumped, knocking over something on the table in front of her. She whirled around, a thunderous expression on her face. "Arthur Gideon Drake, what on earth do you think you're doing?"

He only just managed to suppress a wince at the mention of his middle name. He greatly regretted telling it to her when they were kids, even though she could have found out from his mother. And it wasn't even that she used it with any particular frequency, just that whenever she did use it, it was because she was well and truly pissed.

"I've been showing Merlin around the offices."

Merlin, hanging back by the door, waved sheepishly. "Hi. Sorry. I didn't want to disturb you, but..."

"But Arthur decided to show his true colors as the absolute wanker he is." Arthur winced again at her potent glare. He swore there were times he felt like she could actually set him on fire. And technically she could, quite easily, since fire magic was one of her affinities. "It's nice to see you again, Mr. Caspar. I hope you won't judge the rest of us too unfairly given his pervasive childishness. He certainly doesn't provide the best example of us."

"And yet you assigned me to make sure Merlin gets caught up on everything we do." Arthur grinned. "If my pervasive childishness offends you, perhaps you shouldn't have put me in a position to cause it in others."

"I respect your mother too much to lock you out completely. And that's the only way it would get through to you."

"You just aren't willing to admit that I make this agency look good when I am out on the streets with a partner."

Morgana stepped into his personal space. Her forehead came to the bridge of his nose, and somehow that was always more terrifying than if she's been taller and more imposing. Probably because he had seen her take down people his size, and she was only better the closer she was. The memory of watching her takedown of a suspect wandered back into his head, highlighting the fact that she had started the whole maneuver with a headbutt that broke the bloke's nose. "You don't have a partner now, do you? Not worth much without one."

"You two were raised together, weren't you?"

Arthur took the opportunity to step back as he and Morgana both turned to look at Merlin. Of course, her expression cleared almost instantly. "We were. How could you tell?" she asked.

"I looked after a set of twins for a single mum when I was younger." He shrugged. "They fought a bit like the two of you. Worse, they were identical, so their fights were always a bit nastier, even if most of it was tongue in cheek. Honestly, I could never tell with those two."

"Twins." Arthur bumped elbows with her. "He thinks we act like a set of twins."

She snorted. "If you hadn't already told him we were related, I would have denied knowing you outside of work." She turned back to the work table and started righting everything she had knocked over when he startled her. "There's a bit more to see around here, things that are a lot more interesting that the artifacts you managed to dump on us the other day stumbling into that staging area."

Arthur glanced at the table. It was filled with smaller trinkets, likely things that had protection enchantments or other utility spells for the casual user. The only thing that didn't fit that same idea was a large stone that looked like a rough, fist-sized amethyst. Except it was glowing, which usually meant it wasn't imbued with magic as much as it was perhaps created by it. "Anything good?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out. Considering the sheer quantity you accidentally forced on us, I'm down here trying to help figure that out. Now leave before you manage to discover a miniaturized cultist in the ventilation system. I think that's the only thing you haven't managed by now. Other than deciding on a new partner."

"I'll leave you to it then. I can see when I'm not wanted." Arthur led Merlin back out of the room.

They continued through the Records offices, though there wasn't much else to see there. As they made their way back to the elevator, Merlin reached out to stop him.

"Um. You don't have to answer if it's impolite of me to ask, but why... Why don't you have a partner? Did something happen?"

Arthur shrugged. "Retirement happened. Gareth had been with the Bureau for almost fifty years, the last few of that with me. We were a good team—we have one of the best closure rates in the department—but he wanted to spend more time with his family."

"But why don't you have a new partner? Are there not enough people?" Merlin frowned. "Is that why you tell people about the magical world, so they'll join the Bureau?"

"No. Joining the MIB is just like applying for any other job. You either have to be referred or you need to send in an application and an accounting of the skills you have that would be of use to the MIB. Introducing mages to the magical world is more like getting certified to perform first aid. It's useful to know if you ever need to make use of it, but most people don't ever need to concern themselves with it. The magical world itself is more like a large support structure." Arthur pushed the button for the elevator. "I mean, there is some need for regulation, especially if people are abusing their magic, but our main goal is dealing with magical and supernatural threats in whatever form that takes. And most people don't need that. If anything, we exist to make sure people who don't have a reason to know about magic don't find out about it."

Merlin's arms crossed, and Arthur realized he had just crossed into dangerous territory. Someone knew about Merlin's magic, someone who was not related to him and would therefore end up on the wrong side of the 'need-to-know' equation. This would require some careful handling.

He pulled Merlin into the elevator as it opened, then punched the button for the Office of Misapplied Magics again. The car had barely started moving when he leaned on the emergency stop button.

"I'm not going to lie to you," he began. "Officially, we aren't supposed to tell anyone who isn't family about our magic. There are reasons for it, but most of it reduces down to two different ideas about how magic would be accepted by those who don't have magic. There are enough historical examples as to why being different is bad for people like us, or even people in general. The trial of the Pendle witches in particular is heavy on the mind whenever this subject comes up, and people are convinced it could happen just as easily now. Perhaps faster and more widespread, given the speed of information sharing thanks to the internet."

"But that doesn't mean everyone will be like that!"

"Which is where the second school of thought come in. I think we can agree that a lot of people, perhaps most of them, are driven by greed. And magic has the power to do a lot of things. Not everything, but much more than most people can imagine. Now think what would happen if someone who didn't care about hurting people got their hands on someone who had magic. If they can control that person, they can use them to do practically anything they can think of. We already have enough trouble with the occasional mage trying to use their magic to make themselves rich, and there's not really that many mages in the world compared to everyone else. So one percent of ten thousand is a much more manageable number than one percent of seven billion."

Shrewd understanding slowly bloomed in Merlin's face, and Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he was pierced by Merlin's icy blue eyes. "You said 'officially'."

"I did. _Officially_ , we can't condone anyone telling someone who isn't related to a mage about magic. _Unofficially_ , I can tell you to use your own judgement regarding this matter, for anyone you have told or will tell about magic. There are spells to erase or change certain memories, but it can be difficult to direct those spells, and the result might be that they forget everything they ever knew about you. In general, we choose not to use them because it violates the trust the crown puts in us to maintain the secrecy. It's only if there is an imminent threat of being discovered and outed that we even have the permission to consider it as an option. Unofficially, several of us have friends who know about our magic while they do not possess magic of their own."

Merlin relaxed, sagging against the panels of the elevator. "Okay. I'd rather not be the reason any of my friends got into trouble."

"How many people know?"

"Just my best friend. I wasn't always at being able to control my power, and he saw me. But instead of going to someone else about it, he asked me what had happened. I explained that I had always had the power to make things happen or stop them from happening, and he promised to help me keep it secret."

Arthur leaned against the opposite panel before reaching out and pushing the button to make the elevator move again. "Remind me to introduce you to Quinn some time. It was the same sort of situation there, but I already knew what my power was."

A moment of silence grew between them before Merlin cleared his throat awkwardly. "So, uh, where are we going now?"

"Not sure. The Office of Introductions doesn't have much, other than several people who are better at this sort of thing than I am, and I'd rather not go down there while running the risk of appearing inadequate." He took the edge off the self-deprecation with a slight grin. It was easy enough to admit that he was bad at this; it wasn't anything he had ever actually been trained for. Glancing away, he cast about, trying to figure out something else to do. It didn't seem right to let the day end here, especially as it had barely begun. "I suppose I could take you to the Kiln."

"The kiln? What and where is the kiln? And why would we go there?"

Arthur grinned, patting Merlin's arm as the elevator opened up onto the Office of Misapplied Magics again. "You'll find out soon enough."


	5. Chapter 5

The Kiln was a shopping center, a meeting hall, and an open market for all things magical. Arthur had, of course, known about it practically since birth, but it was the sort of place that was fresh on each viewing. Part of that was caused by the various stalls and stands that cropped up day after day, people setting up to sell their wares, sometimes someone different was in the same plot every day.

Magic was also responsible for the variety of the space. When it was possible to completely change the aesthetic of a shop with minimal effort or cost, there was no reason not to do it whenever the owner chose to. There was something satisfying to Arthur's more adventurous sensibilities when he had to actively search for the things he wanted or needed, when walking into a market felt like stepping into another world. It was more difficult when shop owners chose to change the layout of their shops, but it was just an added challenge, like an impromptu scavenger hunt. Those who needed to find something right away knew to ask for help if the layout had changed, but the ever-shifting shopfronts was part of the appeal of the Kiln for most mages.

Sometimes, especially around particularly significant holidays, the shop owners and market sellers of the Kiln would band together to change the overall appearance of the area, tying it together with the holiday in some way. As it was nearing Beltane, he expected that the Kiln was already dressed in some kind of nature theme for the height of Spring and the celebration of new life. One year for Beltane, they had changed the space so completely, it was like they had taken a piece of the untamed wilderness and transplanted it in the middle of their urban environment. The effect was oddly refreshing, especially since they had managed to enchant the ceilings to emulate the sky in the same area of the country from which they took their inspiration. It made their dense underground location feel more open and freer than anyone had ever expected.

The complex was less than fifty years old, built as the basement floor of a large department store. The credit for their ability to use the space without interference went to the company who owned and commissioned the store. The Knight Conglomerate was a finance group with several mages on the Board. Because they had control of the design and construction, it was easy enough to block out the underground sections for the magical community. Gwaine Castellan, who was responsible for creating new artifacts and devices to help them out in the field, was actually the son of the Chairman of the Knight Conglomerate, though it was clear from his choice of profession and his vehement change of topic whenever the matter of the company or his father came up that he wanted little to do with that life.

Arthur could sympathize with that sentiment. He had no desire to go into politics no matter what his father wanted him to do. He wasn't hardened enough to deal with the dancing around one another to get what he wanted without giving up something he didn't want to. If Gwaine's father was anything like his own, he hadn't stopped trying to convince him.

"You brought me to a department store?" Merlin asked, looking about the regular shops on the publicly acknowledged bottommost floor. "You expect to find a kiln here?"

"Have you been here before?"

"Well, maybe not this exact one, but it has a name, and it didn't sound in any way like 'kiln'."

"Fair enough." Arthur shrugged and led him toward a set of stairs towards the middle of the complex. "But it wasn't this side of things you were meant to see."

Merlin frowned at him and Arthur watched as the suspicion gathered in his face. Merlin was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them and Arthur had more than enough proof that he was actually listening to the things Arthur said. What was more, he was far more attentive than most people in the Office of Misapplied Magics. The slightest oddity in phrasing was enough to have Merlin on guard against some kind of trick. "And what side am I meant to see?"

"Well, given that what we do is a bit of a secret to the rest of the world, you wouldn't think we'd have advertised shopfronts anyone could stumble on, do you?"

Realization dawned and it was a beautiful thing to see someone putting together the pieces of a puzzle so easily.

They came to the door to the stair, where a dull sign reading 'Authorized Personnel Only' hung in drab and faded colors. There was a more well-kept device beside the door that looked like a card reader one might find on other doors like this.

"Do we need something to get in?" Merlin asked, shuffling back a pace and looking around.

"No. Not unless you have a way to leave your magic behind." Arthur tapped the little black device with a finger, which lit up with a green light. It was a simple yet tamper proof device which read the magic within someone. It was possible for someone not aware of their magic to stumble on the Kiln, but only if they were particularly nosy. In the whole time the Kiln had been there, that situation had only occurred twice.

The stairway beyond the door was irrepressibly magical, with glowing crystals embedded in the walls to light the way down. To those sensitive to it, the air was already charged with the familiar iron and smoke tang of sorcery.

"After you," Arthur said, gesturing for Merlin to move ahead of him. He hadn't been there when anyone else entered the Kiln for the first time, but he had been told it was as much a transformative experience for the guide as it was for the guided.

"You know," Merlin ventured, though he still started down the stair, "I think this is how a few horror movies go. If this was a horror movie—which I hope it's not—this is when there would be an ominous swell in the background music."

Arthur chuckled. "This is definitely a different genre."

There was light at the bottom of the stairs, and the sound of people, though it was still too indistinct and muddled to make out more than the occasional word or two. Merlin glanced back at him a couple of times in confusion or trepidation, but he didn't stop moving towards the bottom. Until he reached it, looked out on the Kiln for the first time, and his face went slack.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he watched Merlin's eyes flicking back and forth, trying and failing to take everything in. No one could take everything in all at once. Distantly, he knew he was going to have to thank Morgana for this assignment because he couldn't remember how he had lived before this moment, seeing the wonder and curiosity on Merlin's face as he stumbled forward first one step, then another.

"So," Arthur asked, coming up beside him, "how do you like the Kiln?"

"I can't even— I—"

He decided to take pity on Merlin, who didn't appear to be capable of forming complete sentences at the moment. "It can have that sort of effect on people. But it's our space, where we can meet people or buy magical goods without letting anyone else know what they are or what they can do."

"And you just have this hidden here? Under a department store?"

"The company that built the mall had ties to the magical world. Before this, people were selling out of their houses or at secluded markets. Most of the things here aren't exactly something that should be in the hands of someone who doesn't know how to use it. Protective amulets can be passed off as good luck charms or something like that, but there's a lot of utility items sold here, things that can monitor someone's health and well-being, send messages, determine if something is magical, even produce water. There's a vendor here who enchants dishes like teapots and teacups to keep their contents warm no matter how long they've been sitting out."

"And the, uh, the forest?"

Arthur glanced around at the decorations for Beltane. The shopkeepers had emulated a forest glade, one full of wildflowers and light, though it was in a perpetual state of sunset. A stream cut through the area, running alongside the main pathway, which itself was marked out by rows of blue and purple flowers. There were small glints of light between the trees on the edges, which Arthur guessed were to emulate the little folk. Or perhaps some of the little folk had decided to stay in the Kiln for a while. It wouldn't have been the first time the urbanized sprites inhabited the space while it mimicked a nature theme, if only to get back to some of their natural roots. "It will be Beltane in a few weeks, when we celebrate the coming of spring and the coming of new life."

"Sort of like Easter?"

Arthur shrugged. "I suppose. But I seem to recall something about how the early church adapted pagan traditions to bring pagans in line with their way of thinking. So, Beltane might predate the notion of Easter."

Merlin suddenly turned away from him, wandering off in the direction of the open market. Arthur couldn't tell what had caught his attention, but he didn't have the right perspective to even guess. He knew most of these people by name and knew what they usually sold. He pulled up short in front of a stand with cloth. While Arthur had never purchased any of the fabrics, they were mesmerizing to look at and Eloise was rightfully proud of them.

"Can I help you?" Eloise asked, looking up from her small loom. Eloise Midgen was an older woman, older than his mother. She told some of the most interesting stories to anyone who bothered to stop by, and she'd been coming to the market since the Kiln first opened its doors. She was best known for weaving her own cloth, though she was more than capable of making small tapestries, creating embroidery squares, and even enchanting existing cloth with certain charms for comfort and warmth. From what he could see she was working on a small tapestry, likely a commissioned work, as she didn't often spend too much time making them without an order. The threads she had been working on weaving shimmered in the light, and a pale blue she had off to one side looked like it was glowing. He was almost certain the tapestry would move once she finished with it. "Oh, hello, Arthur."

"Hello. Eloise, this is Merlin. He's fairly new to the magical world."

She frowned up at him. "Not too new, I hope. The Kiln is incredible, but it's not exactly the tamest place to start that sort of introduction."

"I was sort of thrown into the deep end through my own actions," Merlin admitted. His hand was hovering over the cloth, which looked more like watery gel than some kind of textile. It wasn't sheer, but it sparkled like water and Arthur could swear that there were ripples moving in it. "I chose to save him, and everything spiraled from there."

Eloise chuckled. "That does sound like Arthur. His mother never used to get in nearly as much trouble. Though she wasn't particularly invested in saving everyone like he is." She glanced down at Merlin's hands before smiling up at him. "You can touch it, dear. It's only fabric. It's meant to be touched."

With a cautious smile, Merlin lowered his hand to feel the fabric, and a little moan slipped out of him. Instantly, the tips of his ears turned pink and it took every bit of self-control Arthur had not to grin at him. He'd had the same reaction the first time he'd actually touched Eloise's fabrics. There was some kind of secret to her process, one she wasn't about to share with anyone, but she somehow enchanted the cloth to be the softest, most luxurious thing he'd ever touched. Merlin's blush bled down his neck and he looked away from both of them.

Eloise was openly grinning at him. "If I had a pence for everyone who had that reaction to the things I make, I would be a far richer woman. As it is, I am provided with no end of entertainment when they react like that."

Merlin drew his hands away as if the fabric had, despite its appearance, burned him. "It's very lovely. What do you use it for?"

"When I use it?" She shrugged. "Costumes, for the most part. It's not exactly something I would or could wear about on any given day. It's much too fancy for that. It's not exactly delicate, but it looks delicate, so it's best just to save it for those occasions where something special is called for." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "My other customers don't know I know this, but several of them have purchased the fabric from me and proceeded to make," she paused for dramatic effect, leaning even closer, "underthings."

Merlin's face, which had gone back to its normal shade, turned slightly pink. This blush was not as deep as the last, and the color didn't make it to his ears, but it was still there. Arthur had considered purchasing some of the fabric to see what it would be like if he got a pair of pants made of it, but he wasn't particularly good at sewing—just enough to repair his own clothes without shame—so even pants would have been beyond his level of skill.

"Wish I'd thought of it myself to be honest, but what's done is done and I still have customers searching for my fabrics." She leaned back. "I'm sure you young gentlemen have other things you want to get to besides spending time with an old woman weaving cloth. Go on, I won't be offended. I think I saw Agatha around here earlier, so you may run into her."

As they started walking away, Merlin turned to Arthur. "Agatha?"

"That's my mum. Agatha Drake." Arthur glanced around, taking in the newer decorations, waving to familiar faces. "As you can imagine, the magical community is fairly insular. Most people are acquainted with most everyone else, and if they don't know you, then they've still probably heard of you. Eloise isn't one for gossip normally, but I think she would have recognized your name if you'd given it." To Merlin's aghast look, he offered a helpless shrug. "People talk. Anyway, Eloise actually babysat my mother when she was younger."

"Oh." He frowned. "Then what about the smugglers? Did you know them?"

"Some of them. You have to realize that when I'm talking about the magical community, I mean the magical community of London and the surrounding areas. Most of those I don't know are from other countries, or from communities farther north."

"I see."

They lapsed into silence after that, content to simply look around and take in the sights. Most of the things they saw didn't really need to be explained. Some of it couldn't really be explained. Arthur hadn't made an in-depth study of what it took to build a business, magical or otherwise, except as it related to the smuggling he dealt with. Even if he had, every one of the shops in the Kiln was different and went about their business in subtly different ways. It worked, and that was all that mattered to him.

Suddenly, Merlin had disappeared from his side again, beelining for the small bookstore that set up shop in the back corner of the Kiln. With a sigh, he followed. He should have known Merlin was one of those who would spend most of his time in a bookstore in spite of the minor panic attack he'd had when he glimpsed the pile on Arthur's desk.

"So," he ventured, coming up behind Merlin as he ran his fingers across the spines of the books. "Why is it that the bookstore is better than the collection on my desk? Which you don't have to pay for, by the way."

"A bookstore doesn't immediately make me think I got thrown back into a graduate program with no warning or preparation," Merlin responded dryly, not even bothering to look up. "Your desk did."

Arthur sighed and backed off, waving to Charity, one of the regular workers in the shop. The other, Harmony, typically ran the small tea shop attached to it, where people could sit with their new purchases and enjoy some tea and pastries. As it was generally filled with book lovers utterly enthralled by their new books, it was a quiet place to sit and rest. Arthur made his way in that direction, knowing from the gleam in Merlin's eyes that they would be here for a while.

He didn't get very far.

"Arthur? What are you doing here today? Morgana said she let you go back to work."

Arthur turned to see his mother looking up at him from the table closest to the door. She was sitting with a book open in front of her and a small metal teapot situated on a coaster within reach. From what he knew of his mother's tastes, it was likely filled with black tea. "I am back at work. Technically, I'm working now."

The thoroughly unimpressed look she fixed him with after he said that made him feel as though he were seven years old again and trying to get something by her. The expression brought back all the reasons he had not to lie to his mum.

"I'm not lying about this," he protested. "I brought Merlin here so he could see what the Kiln was like, enjoy magical culture at its most dense and nuanced."

"You're starting to sound a bit like a brochure." She smiled. "Well, if he's here, are you going to introduce me to your new friend?"

There was no point in fighting. It was one undeniable, always true fact of life living with his mother. When she set her mind on something, she wasn't going to change it without good reason. And feeling jealous about someone new meeting his mother had never been considered a good reason. "I'll have to go get him then." Arthur only just managed to avoid the heavy sign bubbling up in his gut. Considering she had been talking to Morgana lately, he was almost certain his mother knew almost as much as he knew about Merlin. At the very least, she knew as much as Morgana had told her and probably everything that was making its way around the gossip circles, however true or false that information might be.

While his mother was never an active participant in gossip, she had instilled in him the need to keep one's ear to the ground, and the kind of information that came from that knowledge.

Merlin was still skimming books by their titles when Arthur walked up.

"You know how Eloise mentioned seeing my mum?"

Merlin turned to look at him. "She's here, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is." The heavy sigh made a late comeback. "And she wants to meet you."

"Then we better go," Merlin said, stepping away from the shelves. "It would be rude to keep her waiting."

The book was closed when Arthur returned to the table, leading Merlin. His mother looked open, interested, and available for conversation. It had all the hallmarks of a trap.

"Hi," she greeted, standing to shake Merlin's hand. "I'm Agatha Drake. You must be Merlin Caspar."

"That I am."

Sitting back down, she rested her elbows on the table, leaning forward. "Well, I know I'm not the first, but I'd like to welcome you again to the knowledge of your legacy. I'm sure you've seen how very tight knit we are. It isn't often we find mages to bring into the community, but it's always a treat. What's more, I believe I must thank you for rescuing my son. Arthur can get up to the strangest things, and it makes my job as his mother infinitely harder for all the worrying I have to do. It's especially difficult now he doesn't have a partner."

Arthur frowned as he dropped into another of the chairs. "You say that as if I got my last partner killed or something. Gareth is perfectly fine."

"Perhaps, but you clearly aren't. Two days into a proper vacation and you end up in the middle of a big case with no back-up. If it weren't for Morgana assuring me that you had absolutely no intention of running something like that down on your own, we would be having a different conversation. As it is, I think this is a better use of your time." She smirked at him. "Perhaps I can convince your cousin to transfer you down to the Office of Introductions on a more permanent basis."

Arthur flinched. "I like where I normally work. And besides, Merlin can tell you I am rather terrible at this."

Merlin shrugged, but there was a bit of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "He is. He collected a small library of material and had it sitting on his desk. It had me wondering if there was an entrance test involved with being part of the community, or if it was punishment of some sort because the crystal room wouldn't work for me."

"I hadn't heard that, but Morgana doesn't usually share details like that." Agatha looked him over again speculatively. "You must be extraordinarily powerful for that to have happened." She smiled, reaching for her tea cup. "Has Arthur given you the recruitment speech yet?"

"What?"

"Mum!" If there was one story Arthur would prefer not to be told right then, it was that one.

She just smirked at him and turned back to Merlin. "Arthur always knew he wanted to be part of the Magic Intelligence Bureau. When he was ten, he had the recruitment speech for the Office of Misapplied Magics memorized and would quote from it whenever anyone asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. Around mages, of course. He was dedicated enough to the idea that he didn't want to jeopardize anything telling the wrong person about magic and the MIB."

Merlin glanced at him with a similar smirk. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

"No, he is that type, isn't he?" Arthur was loathe to say the new expression on his mother's face was fondness, if only because she was making fun of him. "I'm glad he's met you. He so needs someone who can keep him grounded and focused on the things that are important."

Arthur crossed his arms, slumping down in his chair. "I am right here, mother."

She laughed, reaching out to pat his arm. "I know, dear. But you make it far too easy to make fun of you. You practically do it to yourself."

"Maybe we should get back," Merlin offered, and Arthur was more than grateful for the obvious olive branch being extended. "I do think it's getting a little late."

"Right," Arthur agreed looking down at his watch. "We should go soon. Was there anything you were particularly interested in here?"

"I don't know what you have on your desk. I should give that a glance over before I start planning any other purchases. Especially since you went to the trouble of getting them." It was yet another olive branch, and if it wasn't so subtle, Arthur would have told him it wasn't necessary. After all, it wasn't really Merlin's fault that his mother had chosen to embarrass him in public. It was neither the first nor the last time she would do so.

"Merlin," his mother stood again. "I hope I am not too presumptuous to say, but perhaps you should consider joining the MIB in some capacity. Someone as powerful as you seem to be would be an asset to the MIB in whatever capacity you might choose, and I would have the peace of mind knowing that there was someone there who could pay more close attention to my son without appearing to show favoritism or preference. Morgana, helpful as she is, can only do so much."

Merlin glanced between them, before ducking his head. "I'll have to think about it."

Together, they made their way back towards the entrance of the Kiln.

"You don't have to listen to her, you know that, right?"

"I know." Merlin sighed. "I understand where she's coming from. I call my mother every other week because she's alone now back home, and I want her to know that I still care about her. And I know she worries about me; she says as much when we talk. Mums are just like that, I think. Even, maybe especially, when we're grown up."

"We see each other every Sunday night for supper. But I suppose I must have scared her the other day." Arthur looked away and noticed a flutter of fairies hovering nearby. They were real, he could tell from the little bright flares of magic he could feel coming off them.

The shop owners had done an excellent job if the decorations were attracting fairies. They were not as adapted to city life like other members of the little folk, preferring the country and the more natural parts of the world. It was rare to see them even then, unless you managed to stumble across the older trees they called home. It generally fell into the vein of Misapplied Magics if someone stumbled into a fairy circle, but that didn't happen much in the city.

"Do you think I should look into getting a job there?" Merlin asked, drawing Arthur attention away from the fairies.

He shrugged. "At the end of it, that's up to you. And she wasn't lying when she said I had the recruitment information memorized. I never wanted to be anything else because I always wanted to be in a position where I would be using magic a lot." He glanced over at Merlin with a smile. "And it's nice to be the hero most of the time. Magic has always been a part of who I am, so I don't think I could have taken any other job."

"Maybe I could get a brochure about it when we get back? Just something to look over so I can decide for myself."

"Of course. In fact, I'll make sure of it." Arthur paused and pulled Merlin up short. "If you do decide to apply, you would be welcome there."

"Thank you. But I do need some time to think about it. I need to weigh my options and, given the pile of books you gathered in a couple of days, there's probably a lot I need to learn before it's entirely possible."

"Well, that's what I'm here for. To help you learn the things you don't know about the magical world. I'm available whenever you need me." And for the first time, Arthur could think about that as something other than a punishment. In fact, he was sure that teaching Merlin about the magical world was going to be a pleasure.


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin had taken six of the books Arthur gathered home with him, promising to return Saturday afternoon to work on the more practical end of magic. He had also taken the brochure Arthur managed to find down in the Office of Records. Though he would never admit it to either Morgana or his mother, he had no idea where they actually kept them normally as he had never searched for one himself. His mother would only joke about how he was the brochure, and Morgana would probably conspire with Records to make that happen.

He did not want to see his face pictured on the brochures enticing people to apply. He had to deal with more than enough attention given who his parents were, thank you very much.

It was refreshing in more ways than one that Merlin had no idea the sort of unspoken status some people had in the magical community. If he had, he would have known that Agatha Sangster was practically royalty among them. That, in addition to the fact that Uther Drake was the Minister for Extra Affairs, made Arthur more or less a prince among the magicals. Someone would enlighten Merlin at some point, but until then it was nice to have someone who didn't know or expect anything from him. Sure, he had already given the impression that he was well-known in the magical community but attributed it mostly to who his father was. His mother was less obvious about her status, but there was always an air of refinement about her. That could be explained by the sort of person she was.

Arthur had honestly spent his life running from the need to acknowledge the sort of privilege he held by virtue of his parentage and his power. Everything he had yet achieved he had done through hard work in spite of what some people believed. As much as he would rather not admit it, Merlin meeting his mother had revealed in a small but obvious way that he had been working for the things he achieved almost his entire life.

He wasn't entirely sure why Merlin’s good opinion of him mattered so much. They had only met a few days ago, and yet he knew he would hate to go down in Merlin's estimation.

When Saturday arrived, Arthur had barely managed to sleep for all the time he spent reviewing the plan he'd made to get Merlin caught up on practical magics. With Thursday's misstep in mind, he had reviewed what he thought was a proper schedule and compared it with the normal training schedule for the average nine-year-old raised with the knowledge of the magical community. While they had no schools for magic exactly, there was a generally accepted curriculum for young mages. He had been on a more accelerated track, which was probably why his idea of what was possible was skewed.

Merlin, from what he had observed, was the ambitious sort. He wasn't afraid of hard work, even if there wasn't much to show of that work. His qualifications as a registered nurse were largely unused in his job as a bike messenger, but he still had them, still did the work that went into getting them.

The written plan he had in his desk was subject to change, pending Merlin's own feedback. He'd had a bit of time to go through the books he'd taken with him Thursday, as the questions he'd been sending were concerning more advanced ideas that the introductory texts didn't get into. Arthur had to admit that, despite coming to magic later in life, Merlin was taking to it like he'd been born in the community.

Instead of waiting at his desk, Arthur elected to wait for Merlin in the front room with Simon, a copy of the plan in his desk folded up in his pocket. He didn't need most of it today, but it was something to discuss since they would have the time.

Merlin arrived shortly after 10AM, shaking rainwater out of his hair. "Sorry. Got caught out in a bit of a downpour."

"That's fine. Why didn't you use an umbrella though?"

"The last one I had broke a while ago, and I haven't gotten around to getting another. And given I can't exactly use one while riding around on a bicycle, it hasn't exactly been a priority."

"Ah, well then, perhaps utility spells should be the first thing we work on today. If you can fix it, you don't need to replace it." Mentally amending the plan was not difficult. Arthur had been intending to go over useful spells anyway, things that he knew could and often were used every day. Some of them were things he didn't even really think about anymore before his magic acted, but getting into the habit of using them that eventually led to that point. "Come on, we're going to head down the training room so we can get started."

Looking up from his newspaper for the first time since Arthur had arrived, Simon smiled. "Have fun, Merlin. Arthur can be a bit difficult to deal with, but most of the time it's worth it."

As much as Arthur wanted to ask about the 'most of the time' part of that comment, he wanted to get started, and that would open up something that had nothing to do with training Merlin. And, truth be told, he didn't really want to know what Simon had meant. It was easier to just ignore the comment like Merlin was.

The training rooms were on the deepest level of the MIB, magically reinforced and specifically designed not to cause any sort of collapse should something destructive occur. There was one room in particular that was set aside for those with more power than they really knew what to do with. This had been the room Arthur trained in from the first time he had his magic read by the focusing crystal. Even after joining the MIB and working his way up the ranks, he still spent a good deal of time in there refining his casting, testing new spells, and preparing for anything he might face in the streets.

Now he was going to impart some of those skills on another and there was a feeling of rightness about it, the sensation that he should have been doing this a long time ago. Although he could never believe he was meant to be a teacher, being able to share the things that he had learned and see others use them was intoxicating, and he hadn't even begun teaching yet.

Once the elevator opened up, Arthur led Merlin through the wide hallways to the farthest gateway. The area was rougher down on this level, the walls made of bare stone and the rooms themselves more or less carved out from the earth. Each room was marked by a stone gateway enchanted to contain the power of those in the room. People could enter and leave the rooms, but no spells would travel through the gateways, inside out or outside in.

Even with magic, it had been one of the largest undertakings the magical community had come together for in their history. It was believed that Merlin, the Merlin who stood by King Arthur Pendragon, was responsible for carving out the largest of the training rooms. Carving it out, enchanting it, filling the space with protective magics for those who intended to use it. There were several times that it was adapted to be used as a council room, when the full Magical Council decided to meet. That hadn't happened in about 200 years.

"These are the training rooms," Arthur told Merlin, the modern Merlin. "If ever you are trying to work with magics you don't entirely understand how to control, this would be the best place to come for that sort of thing. Each of the rooms are layered with enchantments to protect the people in it from any sort of magical backlash. A few of the rooms closer to the elevator have lighter enchantments so you can duel with magic, but it's better to start with practice targets to start out. I'm sure I don't have to tell you, but magic is as dangerous as it is wonderful."

"Before I met you, I didn't know anyone who would abuse it." Merlin smirked. "But, of course, before I met you, I didn't know anyone else had magic."

Arthur shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder if there isn't actually some spell that curses the target to live a tumultuous life. I've never had the slightest inkling how to proceed with finding out whether it's true or not. Haven't had the time, really."

Merlin sort of stumbled as they stepped into the largest training room. While the floors weren't particularly uneven, the place was heavy with magic. Arthur hadn't thought Merlin's sense for magic was attuned enough yet to pick up on that yet, but he had become more or less desensitized to the feel of it over repeated exposure. In a way, it was almost heart-breaking that he couldn't come to it with that same awe.

Merlin turned wide, shocked eyes on him. "What was that?"

"That was the protections snapping into place. It's a rather marvelous piece of work, this room. Created by the Merlin you were probably named after. The one from all the stories."

"I only know the one story. Didn't think he was real though."

"No, he was real. The actual story is a bit different, but he was real. And younger than King Arthur, if you can believe it."

Merlin shrugged. "As I've learned over the past few days, magic can do a lot of things."

"And I should get to teaching you a few more."

* * *

Actual conversation didn't continue until hours later, after Merlin had proven again and again how dedicated he was to learning and mastering the spells and techniques Arthur was trying to teach him. To his credit, they were coming easily to him.

In a way, it almost seemed too easy. Arthur had never seen someone understand and cast the volume of magic he taught Merlin in that four-hour period. It was like watching someone learning to ride a bicycle again. The instincts and balance were never quite forgotten, if the confidence was somewhat lacking. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if Merlin wasn't just having him on. If not for his genuine reactions to things, Arthur would have accused him of lying again.

His magic couldn't be read and understood by anything they had access to, so it would be impossible to know if he had been discovered before, but the naked awe when Arthur took him to the Kiln could not have been faked. Things weren't adding up, and the simplest explanation was Merlin's memories had been erased at some point. If that was the case, there was still nothing to explain who might have done that, or why. And, given how imprecise memory spells were, how much of Merlin's memory had been erased?

Shaking the chilling thought from his mind, he turned to his newly minted mage. He opened his mouth to speak, only to have his cheeks turn pink as his stomach complained loud enough for it to echo in the room.

"I think your stomach is trying to tell you it's time for a break," Merlin commented, laughing.

"You're probably right. We've probably missed anything that even looks like a lunch rush at this rate."

"But we got a lot done."

"No, you got a lot done." Arthur started back towards the gateway and the elevator beyond. "I was just here to give certain tips and point you in the right direction."

"Considering I have a terrible sense of direction, that's probably for the best." Merlin picked up his jacket, which he'd left laying beside the gateway early in the training session. While not being particularly labor-intensive in the usual sense, magic use took a lot out of the mage. They were essentially opening up their bodies as a channel for magic to travel through in order to affect change in a specific and directed way. The body was naturally taxed in that process, though not in the same way as a traditional exercise.

Once they were in the elevator, Merlin sort of slumped against the wall and sighed.

Arthur frowned. "We don't need to continue today if you don't want to."

"No, I want to keep going!" Merlin pushed off from the wall of the elevator, waving his hands weakly. "It's just-- That room is strange. It feels like I'm walking over someone's grave."

"I think I can safely say there's no one buried in there, but there is a lot of history in it. Centuries of it before either of us were born." Sighing, Arthur let his head rest against the back wall. "It's like stepping into a mausoleum that people forgot is supposed to be a place of death. But then, we have the pieces of our ancestors sitting around us at all times. The MIB itself was more or less founded by Merlin. The mages of the time had their insular communities hiding from the rest of the world, sometimes in plain sight, and there is just so much history that gets overlooked because it's always been there."

The elevator opened up on the first floor again. This time, instead of leading Merlin out, Arthur took him around to the kitchens, which had been expanded along with the dining room into a large canteen space.

"History has always been one of the things that is both complicated and nuanced. I think more than a few people might envy you for not knowing or having a history in the magical community. That you know of, of course."

"Part of that is meant to be amended in the near future. I seem to recall you mentioning that I should do some kind of inheritance test down in the Office of Records?"

"Well, it would be helpful." Arthur moved to the buffet line and picked up one of the trays, tapping twice on square metal pad meant to register his magical signature. "Grab a tray and pick whatever you want."

"Do I need to pay or something?" Merlin picked up the tray anyway but hung back uncertainly. "I can pay for myself."

"No need. I have a certain number of meal vouchers credited to me each week, and I haven't used near enough to make it a problem. Besides, I already took care of it, as it's technically my responsibility as the one who brought you here today."

Although he looked like he still wanted to protest, Merlin closed his mouth and turned instead toward the buffet. Arthur didn't doubt that he was plotting something horrible for him, something he would least suspect, but there were no complaints at the moment.

Merlin, having gotten his food first, selected a table in the corner of the room where, if there had been others eating as well, it would be simple to monitor the room and anything happening in it. It was the seat Arthur would have picked if he hadn't been beaten to it, and from the smirk on Merlin's face, he knew it too.

"No, I didn't," Merlin retorted, drawing him up short. "And no, I'm not reading your mind. For someone who's supposed to be some great magic police officer, you're rather easy to read."

"I'm more of an agent, actually."

"That might be worse. You certainly don't fit the bill of the James Bond type."  Merlin's grin was mildly infectious and, much as he didn't want to show that he was at all amused, he could feel the corners of his mouth quirking upward.

"Maybe I wasn't going for James Bond."

"We're British, you called yourself an agent, and you work for a branch of the government most people don't acknowledge actually exists. There's no way you weren't going for James Bond."

Arthur took a more aggressive than necessary bite out of a dinner roll he'd collected from the buffet, filling his mouth to keep from letting loose a retort that would set Merlin off again. Merlin just chuckled and started in on his own meal.

After a bit, he set his fork down, suddenly serious.

"Is something wrong?" Arthur asked. "I'm not actually upset, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not." Merlin stared down at the table between them. "It's just-- I went through the information you got for me. The recruitment paperwork."

"Oh?" He didn't dare say more than that, hope and uncertainty and something he wasn't sure he could identify yet churning in his gut.

"I put in my notice yesterday. I want to apply here. Magic is just-- I realize I only came into this earlier this week, that I didn't know that's what it was before you told me, but it's been a part of my life since I was born, and I've had to hide it most of that time. I hate that, I hate hiding what I can do because I didn't know who to trust. And this," Merlin waved his hands at the building around them in an attempt to encompass everything that they were and stood for. "This is incredible. It's everything I wanted out of my power, everything I dreamed--"

Arthur frowned. It sounded like he'd meant to say more, but something was stopping him. Deciding to let it pass rather than draw attention to it, he asked, "Is that why you've been pushing so hard today? Because you feel like you need to get to a certain level before you can apply?"

Merlin shrugged. He opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes suddenly drifted past Arthur to something over her shoulder. "Your cousin is glaring at you."

"What?" Arthur turned in the direction Merlin was looking and flinched as he caught Morgana's molten glare head on. He didn't know what he'd done wrong, but it must have been something terrible. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her this angry. Even the night Merlin saved him, she had been more exasperated and annoyed than angry. This... It was pure, incandescent rage, and he didn't know how he had managed to get it directed at him. He ducked his head, turning away quickly, though he could still feel the weight of her glare burning into his back like a branding iron. "Well, apparently I'm going to be apologizing for something I didn't know I did and attempting to win back her goodwill."

"I don't think I ever understood the phrase 'if looks could kill' until this moment." Merlin was still staring past him at Morgana. "I do not envy whatever you have to do to fix things."

"I hope she'll tell me what it was I did, so I won't do that ever again." He shivered, before attempting to cast his mind back to safer topics. "You don't need special training in order to apply or be accepted. Most of the trainees I've known have started out with no more than the most basic understanding of their magic and how to apply it, and we've already covered that part. I know a current trainee who came in without knowing even the most basic spell for defending himself from an active threat, magical or mundane."

"That seems counter-productive for someone applying for a job in what is essentially specialized law enforcement."

Arthur smiled. "I know. I couldn't believe it either. But my point is that a lot of the training you're worried about happens in-house, and with pay."

"God, I love that phrase. 'With pay'." He looked off into the middle distance with a wistful expression on his face.

"Some people aren't as thrilled about the work aspect of that."

"I don't fucking care if I have to work for it. Work is work, and if you want to get paid, you have to do work." Merlin sighed happily. "But if you can get paid to learn and they call it work, so much the better. It would have made school that much easier to endure."

Arthur couldn't help the chuckle that burst out of him. "The Office certainly needs more people with your attitude and work ethic. Do you want to get everything worked out for that before you leave today? Have things in place so you don't need to worry about the next step?"

Merlin looked down at the table again. "Can we? Is it really that easy?" He scrubbed at his face with his hands, sighing. "There are times when this doesn't feel real, like I'm still in bed asleep and I just quit the only job I've been able to keep for more than a year because of my stupidly vivid imagination."

Arthur would later claim it was the temporary departure of his reason, but he reached out and grabbed Merlin's wrist, not tight enough to hurt but with a firm enough grip to be felt. "Can you feel that?"

"Of course." Merlin's eyes were locked on Arthur's hand, and there was a strange expression on his face, something between confusion and satisfaction. As he wasn't complaining about it, Arthur didn't bother to pull his hand back yet.

"Do you usually have such vivid dreams that you can feel everything that happens in them?"

"Honestly? Sometimes. It depends on the dream."

Arthur blinked. That response would change his tactics a bit. Letting go of Merlin's wrist, he pulled back just a bit before pinching the fleshy bit of Merlin's arm. Hard.

"Ow! You wanker!"

Arthur smirked. "Still think you're asleep?"

"No, but I'm starting to regret getting out of bed this morning." Merlin glared at him as he rubbed at the sore part of his arm. The glare wasn't as potent as Morgana's had been, and it was already cooling.

"Sorry." Merlin's glare suddenly reheated. Clearly, he wasn't about to believe an apology they both knew was largely insincere. Arthur decided a change of topic would be better for continued conversation. "So, what office were you most interested in?"

"Records, now that you've proven to be such a prat. Which is a pity, because I'd been rather looking forward to joining the office of Misapplied Magics. It sounded the most interesting of everything, But irreconcilable differences and all that..."

To his utter mortification, Arthur whined. Worse, his usual reaction--pretend that didn't happen--was unsuccessful, as Merlin snorted.

"I'm joking, you utter clotpole! God, you should see your face. You look like I just ran over your dog or something." He sighed, wiping away tears that had leaked out while he'd been laughing. "I still intend to apply to your department. I mean, could you see me sorting through files all day? Don't answer that."

Arthur just shrugged. "The job does have its own bit of paperwork, but at least I don't have to do the sorting for it." Digging back into his half-eaten lunch, he gestured for Merlin to do the same. "After we finish, we'll take care of that application, head down to the office of Inheritance, and then we should probably call it for today."

* * *

Later, after Merlin had gone home, Arthur was standing outside Morgana's office with a box of her favorite tea as an apology gift for whatever it was, he'd forgotten he'd done. His hand hovered in front of it, poised to knock, but he couldn't quite convince him to do it.

"Get in here, Arthur, before someone decides you're secretly mooning over me or I decide to just go home." Morgana's voice was muffled through the door, but she sounded more exasperated than angry. He hoped that was a good sign.

Pushing open the door, he sat down in the chair across from her. "I brought you this."

Leaning forward, she picked up the box of tea from where Arthur had set it in the middle of her desk. "Alright, what are you trying to bribe me to do now? I warn you; this has only bought you the chance to explain what you want."

Arthur frowned. "I don't want anything. I thought you were upset with me for some reason."

"Other than the rather foolish endeavor from earlier this week, I can't think of anything you've done to make me more upset."

"You were glaring at me across the canteen."

Morgana's brow wrinkled. "Today? I went out for lunch; I wasn't in the canteen."

"This was later. Merlin and I lost track of time down in the training room."

"Oh really?" She raised an eyebrow suggestively, smirking at him. "I'm sure that's easy to do down there."

"Don't be crude, it wasn't like that!"

"Pity." She sighed. "You said it was later. Where are you going with this?"

"When Merlin and I were getting lunch, you glared at me. If looks could kill, this would have."

"But I never went to the canteen." Morgana frowned down at her desk. "No, I don't remember going down there. But maybe I passed by on the way back here. I don't know." She shrugged, but her brow was still slightly creased, in worry or concentration Arthur wasn't sure.

He didn't have the heart to point out that the canteen was nowhere near the path to her office. "Well, then," he said instead. "Maybe this is a bribe."

She leaned forward, resting her chin elegantly on her hand as she stared at him. "Oh? And what is it that you want exactly? Because you came in here and told me you weren't after anything like that."

"It's nothing big, not really. But Merlin is applying to Misapplied Magics, and I want to keep training him as my partner."

There was a moment of silence, and during that pause Arthur braced himself for... something. Morgana was only ever this quiet when she was plotting, and that never boded well for him. She blinked at him and sat back, examining him carefully.

"Honestly, I don't know why you're asking me. It's not as if you need my blessing. I'm fairly certain Aunt Agatha already gave hers." She opened a drawer in the side of her desk and slipped the tin of tea into it. "But since you asked, yes, you can take Merlin as your partner." She smiled at him. "I honestly didn't think this would happen so quickly. Perhaps I should force you to take a vacation more often."

"Oh, god no." But he was smiling back, already reworking the training plan in his head to incorporate everything Merlin would need to know to survive in the department and out in the field. He was going to have someone he could trust beside him again, and the thought of it was making him giddy.

"You have what you want, now go. Some of us have actual work to do."

"In a few weeks, I'll have some too," he shot back over his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear the whole way out of the building.


	7. Chapter 7

The next couple weeks were more or less a blur of preparations. Merlin was finishing out his job as a bike messenger while Arthur was putting together everything he would need in the Office of Misapplied Magics, which included requesting a new desk for him. The one Gareth had been using had been claimed and Arthur wasn't about to ask Sharice to give it up because he had a partner again. And besides, Gareth's desk had a personality to it that better suited Sharice than it would have Merlin. It was easier to bring out a new desk and let Merlin imbue that with his own personality.

Over the course of their training sessions in that time, Arthur had been exposed more and more to Merlin's quirky nature. The man was a walking contradiction—when he could walk, that is. One of the first things Arthur had come to know was that Merlin could be incredibly clumsy. He was capable, and most of the time he seemed fairly balanced, but then he would trip over nothing and land sprawling on the floor.

The clumsiness didn't extend to his magic however, which he wielded with a familiarity and finesse of long practice. Spells came to him easily, as did Old English, which flowed off his tongue almost as if it was his first language. He could grasp concepts and certain peculiarities of magic that most people who lacked the grounding in it found difficult. Arthur was putting more thought to the idea that someone had possibly wiped his memory of using magic, but not the experiential understanding that came with years of practice. There wasn't enough to definitively say that something had happened, but it was still the easiest explanation for what he was seeing. That, or Merlin was somehow controlled by his magic rather than the other way around.

Arthur had also noticed that Merlin could get focused on a specific thought or idea to the exclusion of all else. Most of the time, it was something related to a spell or concept they were working on, but he'd started to lose Merlin's attention in the canteen because another conversation would attract his attention. He'd put his full effort into eavesdropping on that conversation, leaving Arthur behind until he realized he'd lost his audience.

That was another thing he hadn't known about Merlin at first. He was a people person. And people liked him. He'd decided not to tease him about it because it was more fascinating to just watch as Merlin drew even the most anti-social person he knew, Lucinor Greaves, a clerk in the Office of Records, into a satisfying and engaging conversation. What was more, Merlin wasn't even trying to do any of this. The people came to him, all of them, and told him things that Arthur, even though he'd worked with some of them for years, had never known.

Arthur didn't think Merlin realized the sort of effect he had on people, how he made them feel special and important just by talking with them. He knew it was selfish, but he didn't want to share this knowledge, not even with Merlin himself.

However, it was Merlin's magic that was the most contradictory of what Arthur had been able to observe. In spite of his rather dramatic introduction to it when Merlin saved him from the smugglers, his general magics were so subtle as to be nigh unnoticeable.

Combat magics were a whole different matter, though. Nothing about it was subtle, nor was it anything less than overpowering. This wasn't a problem, per se, unless they were in an area with a lot of people not in the know about magic. It was a security risk in the making, and they were working on it. In mock combat, Merlin opted for more utility spells, using them in ways they weren't technically intended to bring down his opponent.

The stupid grin Merlin had flashed him when he'd won that training match drifted back into his thoughts and Arthur couldn't help the surge of pride he'd felt in that moment that Merlin had come so far. If trickery and directed accidents were the way that Merlin was going to fight, he was completely fine with that. If nothing else, it would keep him safer, since he would be attacking from somewhere he wouldn't be seen in order to pass off the spell as an accident.

In his mind, Merlin was an agent of karma, bringing down the people who didn't care who got caught in the crossfire as long as they were making a profit.

Today, though, was going to be Merlin's first official day and, per his request, Arthur was going to introduce him to the other members of the department. Without impinging on others' schedules, that would translate to a lot of time in the office itself, waiting for people to arrive, but that would also leave time to get Merlin acquainted with the most important rules they needed to follow.

A small voice in the back of his head that sounded distantly like Morgana was muttering something about bad habits and ignoring rules as it suited him. It did sound like something she had said before.

Merlin stepped out of the elevator on his own. By now, he could probably navigate the most important parts of the MIB without issue.

"I see you managed to find your way," Arthur teased, setting aside a file he'd been attempting to read with little success.

"Oh, shove off." He eyed the empty desk pushed up against Arthur's. "Is this for me?"

Arthur leaned forward to tap the nameplate with his pen. "Nope. See, this is for some other Merlin starting today. We have so many them banging down our doors. It's a wonder we haven't been exposed yet."

"Ha ha." Still, Merlin brushed his fingers across the desk like it was alive. As Arthur watched, his brow was slowly scrunching up.

"You're not going to ruin it," he said, hoping he'd guessed Merlin's fear correctly. "And it's not just going to get taken away because someone is being vindictive. I wouldn't let them, if nothing else, but you've worked hard to even convince yourself that you deserve a place here. That desk..." He gestured at it. "That's just a small piece of what your hard work should earn, and it's only the first."

Slowly, Merlin sat down at it, sinking into the chair as if it was going to swallow him.

Arthur decided to take pity on him and held out the file. "Here. Read this."

He blinked at the folder before accepting it. "Do we have a case already?"

"No, this is an old file. I have Morgana's voice in my head scolding me to make sure you know proper procedure before you’re out in the field with me, where I don't always follow things to the letter." He shrugged. "Cases are rarely so straightforward that we can follow every bit of protocol we have been trained to use. Sometimes the situation needs a little bit of flexibility." Sighing, Arthur slipped the pen he'd been fidgeting with back into the pen cup on the corner of his desk. "That particular case, we followed protocol—spirit and letter— and it was mostly successful. There were still some people we weren't able to catch. It also serves as a good launching point for explaining about the Black Hand, who you'll hear about more than you care to."

"The Black Hand?"

"A group of high-end smugglers and dealers of magic. It's more or less impossible to catch them all, as we haven't even seen one of their leaders before. Not that we know of, anyway. Cedric Provost is probably one of the leaders, but we haven't been able to confirm that. Nor have we been able to catch him. Neither he nor any of the people he works with are particularly concerned with maintaining the secrecy of the magical community. There have been several near misses we can attribute almost solely to him and other members of the Black Hand."

"You're sure there's another leader?" Merlin asked as he opened the folder.

"They've never been coy about her existence, just her identity. All we've managed to get out of the ones we do catch is that she's blonde and female." Arthur looked down at his hands, thinking of all the times they'd failed to get any closer on any of it. "If we try to get anything more than that, even if they want to tell us, they're under some kind of enchantment that prevents it." When Arthur looked up, Merlin was grimacing at the file. "Ah. Did you get to the list of items and the description of what they do?"

Merlin nodded. From his paling cheeks and deepening grimace, Arthur could even guess the item that had caused him distress. One of the things they had retrieved in that particular raid was a box with a creature known as a gean canach. The box held the creature in a form of stasis, but it was more horrifying what it could do. It was capable of sucking magic out of a person. When they'd found it, the gean canach was still in its box, and they decided to leave it there rather than risk the possibility that it could attack one of them. But even for Merlin, who hadn't known about the community for long, his magic was an integral part of his identity and the thought of losing it was just as horrifying for him as it was for Arthur.

"Why would someone have something like that, something that eats magic?"

Arthur shrugged. "It's a weapon. If you're fighting someone who has magic and you managed to make them encounter it, you would win. Battling with magic comes down to two things: how much power you have, and how you use it. I've seen people with more raw power taken out by someone who has cultivated skill and finesse in the spells they practice. But if you take magic out of the equation for one of those people it doesn't matter how skilled or powerful they are. No magic is no magic." He sighed. "We still have it locked away somewhere in the labs down in Records, but even in the worst sort of cases, I doubt we would ever use it."

Merlin still looked sick—haunted, really—and that wasn't an expression he enjoyed causing.

"Look," Arthur said. "I can get you a different file if you want. Something on a different raid."

"No, I can do this," he protested, clutching the folder closer as if he expected Arthur to take it from him suddenly. "It's just— You said that scanner on the entrance to the Kiln reads your magic. Something like that, it's not just taking their magic; it's taking away their life as they know it. They can't be part of the magical community because so much of what is done relies upon having magic."

Arthur could feel the color draining from his face as the world became just a little bit darker with that knowledge. "All the more reason it stays locked away."

Merlin went back to his reading and Arthur couldn't help the stray thought that sometimes he hated the things Merlin brought to his attention. His was still an outsider perspective, for as easily as he was taking to life as a member of the magical community. But in some off-hand comment, he would manage to cast everything Arthur knew and had grown up with into doubt. He couldn't think of it as something wrong, though. It just forced him to re-examine the things he had taken for granted in his life and ask deeper questions about why things were put together the way they were.

He was grateful when Leon and Percival arrived to change the topic altogether. He really didn't want to see what else Merlin might find in the file to add to what was already a bad situation.

"You must be Merlin," Leon said, holding out his hand for Merlin to shake. "We've heard a bit about you from Arthur. Well, that, and seen you across the canteen on some days."

"You've heard good things, I hope?" Merlin asked. To his credit, he wasn't fidgeting or showing signs of nervousness. But then, people usually adored Merlin, so it wasn't likely a problem he normally had.

"Yes. Arthur's practically been gushing about how well your training is going and the sort of control you have over most spells."

Percival chuckled. "He was especially proud of the way you were able to knock him on his arse in your mock battle."

Arthur sighed when Merlin looked his way. "It was a good move. It's been a while since someone was able to do that while I was paying attention."

"It really has," Leon agreed. "Gareth was really the only one who could match him in sparring, and he'd been taking it out on the other trainees before you came around."

"Don't exaggerate, Leon. You and Percival are decent fighters. You've beat me several times."

"Together, perhaps. But not separately. And certainly not any time recently." Turning back to Merlin, Leon grinned. "Since he's been apparently feigning humility here, has he told you about the time he and Gareth were pinned down in a fight, and he managed to take down six sorcerers and two mages after Gareth went down?"

"No." Merlin turned to look at him with an assessing eye. "No, he didn't mention that."

"What? It's not as if you'd believe me if I told you, given how we met." Arthur snorted. "And given you were able to knock me on my arse so quickly, I think you'd look askance at me if I even tried to mention it."

"Maybe you were having an off day or something."

"Oh, please. As if that's a valid or believable excuse. No, you won because you are more powerful than I am, and you understand almost instinctively how to use more subtle spells to the best effect. You won because you have power and you have skill. An opponent who has that is going to be difficult to beat, unless you can outmatch them in one or the other. Even then, it'll be a difficult battle, and you can't be sure of anything."

Arthur could see how Percival was sizing Merlin up. He didn't look like much to the average person, but none of them achieved the status they had in the MIB by seeing only what the average person could see. Even with the knowledge that he was powerful, it wasn't as obvious as it should have been. With concentration and exposure, it was more blatantly obvious that he was a mage, but the level of power, only hinted at by the overloaded crystal in the assessment chamber, was more difficult to pin down. Arthur hadn't been able to determine any near comparison, other than realizing that Merlin was perhaps as powerful as his namesake.

He wished they knew more about the original Merlin. The stories they had tended to contradict one another, all overlapping and claiming outrageous things that no one was sure whether to believe or not. The notion that he was aging in reverse was perhaps the most ridiculous, and the idea that he had been as young as Arthur when he'd arrived in Camelot wasn't far behind it. The only thing people were willing to agree on was that Merlin was old and wise.

It was odd to try and think that such a man was once a child. The idea was so strange that Arthur could help but wonder if that's where the stories about Merlin aging in reverse came out, trying to explain why a man so revered would exist as the eternally old and wise man they believed him to be.

"When he isn't getting himself into bad situations with no backup or prior knowledge, Arthur is one of the strongest fighters we have. More than capable of fighting half the department on his own," Leon admitted. "But if you can beat him, then he still has a lot to learn about how to be subtle and sneaky."

Percival nodded, to Arthur's mortification, though there was a bit of a smile on his face which suggested that this whole thing was a bit of a prank on him. "He really does. He charges into a lot of things without the proper thought needed to succeed. Or, at the very least, how to get through without losing more than he wants to."

"I do not charge into things!"

"Yes, you do." At their chorused reply, Arthur considered all the ways he could get revenge on them but ultimately decided he needed to take the high ground in this. That, or just extract himself from the situation.

He decided getting out of there, at least for a few minutes, was probably for the better. "I'm going to head down to the canteen for some coffee. Do you want anything, Merlin?"

"No, I'm fine."

Shrugging, Arthur made his way out the door opposite the elevator. There wasn't much point riding an elevator when the canteen was only a flight of stairs away. On his way down, he passed Gwaine Castellan going the opposite way. It was odd to see Gwaine out of the labs, but it did happen. Lately, it had been happening more and more.

It wasn't until he was getting his tea that Arthur realized the pattern he'd watched assert itself in Gwaine's life. The days he was most often seen outside of his personal lab happened to be the days that Merlin was there. And the fact that Arthur had seen him those days meant that he was always in the same vicinity as Merlin.

He grumbled under his breath. Gwaine was not the sort of person who should be hanging around Merlin. He was a capable mage, able to make ingenious items that made the job of the field agents that much easier and safer, but he was also a prankster and a horrid flirt. Although Arthur himself had never ventured on many of the trips to the pub after work, he'd been on a few when Gwaine was there, and the man was on first name basis with the management of every pub they visited. That was evidence enough that the man was likely also a drunk. A likable drunkard, but a drunkard nonetheless.

With a sigh, he started back up, expecting that he would have to have a talk with Gwaine about boundaries, and why he appeared to be overstepping them. After all, Merlin couldn't know the kind of trouble he was and could be, and Arthur wasn't going to sit back and watch that train wreck happen.

Of course, there was also the fear they would get on too well. The MIB wouldn't be able to cope with the presence of two such devious individuals, and Arthur respected Morgana too much to just sit back and watch the fireworks should that happen. That, and most of it would probably be blamed on him for not putting a stop to it when he first saw it on the horizon.

On a whim, outside the door to the main office, he cast a spell on himself to make him beneath notice. He wasn't invisible—most everyone would be immediately on guard if they could sense someone had entered but not see them—but he was considered unimportant, his presence slipping from people's mind the moment they became aware of him.

It was like this he stepped into the room and saw Gwaine leaning over Merlin's desk.

"... working with someone like the princess," he was saying, his posture screaming confidence and interest.

"Morgana?"

"No, Arthur. It's a bit of an inside joke, really. He's practically royalty, anyway."

"Oh." Merlin nodded. "Because of his father."

"No. Well, sort of. More his mum, actually. The Sangsters are an old magical family. They can trace their family lineage back to the time of Merlin, and most records agree that he was working closely with them. The Drake family doesn't come from magic, but their records go back almost as far."

"But how does that make him practically royalty?"

Arthur wanted to stop the conversation. Apparently, the train wreck was occurring faster than he had anticipated, and he was caught in the middle of it. Even if he intervened now, Merlin would ask him what Gwaine was talking about, and it would ruin the trust between them if he lied and said it wasn't important. His only option really was to let the conversation continue down whatever path it went and hope Merlin's opinion of him didn't suffer too much damage.

"Well, being a member of such an old family is part of it. There's an unofficial status that comes of it. Not exactly that any of them are better than any of the rest of us, but more to do with the fact that they know more of their history on the side of magic and can trace it through time and the events they were present for or influenced. It's actually influence that's the biggest part of things, which is why Drake is more or less a prince. He's got the grounding and history in the magical community from his mum, and the more modern connections through his father." Gwaine pulled Arthur's chair over to Merlin's desk and sat down. "If he really put his mind to it, he could probably take over most things, but he seems to enjoy making life difficult for people like us."

Merlin's brow wrinkled, and Arthur had to fight to keep himself from laughing. Apparently Gwaine had been expecting him to approach teaching Merlin as he did all the other recruits. But, aside from the day of fielding questions about every piece of potential magical knowledge that crossed his mind, Merlin had been a model pupil and a true joy to teach because of the ease with which he managed new magic and the enthusiasm he brought with him each day. Even on his most difficult days, Arthur had never found reason to raise his voice or chastise him for anything he'd done, nor had he wanted to.

Gwaine should have realized that there was a reason Arthur chose Merlin as his partner.

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked. "Learning all this new magic has been difficult, but Arthur has been making the process as easy as possible."

Arthur had to hold back another snort. If learning what Arthur had been teaching was 'difficult' when he'd been breezing through it all, he had to wonder what Merlin's definition of impossible was, as in all likelihood he was routinely accomplishing that as well.

"Drake? Making things easy?" It was apparently Gwaine's turn to look confused. "The man doesn't know the definition of the word 'easy'."

Merlin shrugged, glancing back down at the file on the Black Hand. "Maybe he just expects a little more out of people. He seems to expect a lot from himself."

Arthur wasn't sure how to interpret the flash of something like anger that appeared on Gwaine's face before it went back to its usual easy grin. "Maybe. Doesn't make him any less of a princess, though." There was a slight pause, enough for Gwaine to reorient the conversation. "You should come down to my lab some time. I could show you a few of the things I've been working on. Lately, the dragon in charge has had me working on determining the properties of that crystal found among the smugglers' haul a few weeks back. At this point, I'm almost certain it isn't something naturally created. It has a specific magical frequency that, when I ran it through our records, is a near match for Merlin's magic. The original Merlin," he added, belatedly realizing who he was talking to.

"Really?" It was a very mild display of interest. For the fervor with which most people would have taken to that statement, Merlin was largely unimpressed. But then, Merlin had grown up outside the magical community, and that had influenced the things he knew and thought. The non-magical people of the world held up Merlin as this figure of myth capable of practically anything, which was almost true, but there was a distance in the awe for them because he was believed to be entirely fictional.

"I don't think you understand how significant that is," Gwaine said, cutting into Arthur's thoughts. "We have lots of records on Merlin and the things he did, but we don't really have anything we can definitively say he owned or made. If I'm right, and this crystal was created or enchanted by him, it will be the first thing we have been able to determine was his. That's— You have no idea how important a discovery that would be!"

"I'll have to take your word for it." Merlin shrugged. "It's just weird hearing my name in context of things I know I couldn't have been a part of."

"Oh. I suppose that would be weird. Especially since Merlin isn't exactly a common name."

There was a moment of awkward silence in which, from Arthur's perspective, Gwaine appeared to be working himself up for something. If it was going to make Merlin uncomfortable, which Gwaine could do even to people who knew him, he was fully prepared to step in and end the conversation, no matter the explanations he would have to give regarding his status in the magical world.

"Do you want to go out tonight?"

Arthur almost dropped his cup, which would definitely have drawn attention to himself. That was not what he was expecting out of Gwaine, though he really should have. Something in his gut burned at the thought of Merlin going out on a date with Gwaine. Because that's what that would be. Gwaine invited the room when he wanted company at the pub, as Arthur knew from the time he had been dragged along. When it was this focused and direct, it was a date.

"Uh, sure." Merlin agreed, and Arthur could feel something inside his chest shrivel up and die. "I'll have to ask Arthur when he gets back if he wants to go, too, but it might be fun. And easier to meet people from here in a more relaxed setting."

 _He doesn't realize. He doesn't know what Gwaine is really asking him._ Arthur was sure he was supposed to feel some pity for Gwaine in this situation, but he couldn't bring himself to, not with the slick, oily feeling of schadenfreude creeping over him. It was the worst sort of satisfaction, but that didn't make it any less sweet to his mind.

"I wasn't thinking of something like that," Gwaine said, managing to cover his disappointment rather admirably. "Although I could probably arrange that if you wanted. I was hoping to get to know you. Just you and me, without the princess hanging over us."

"Oh." Merlin looked up from the file, blinking. A look of realization that Arthur had become so familiar with finally made an appearance. Of course, there wasn't much to mistake about the phrase, 'just you and me'. "Sorry, I thought—" He cleared his throat, looking up at Gwaine again, a slight blush tinging his cheeks pink. "I... don't know. It's... been a while since I dated and I—" He broke off, in word and eye contact, staring back down at his desk as if he was going to find answers there.

"I see." Gwaine wasn't as smooth covering his disappointment a second time.

Again, Arthur felt the guilty surge of satisfaction filter into his gut, the slithering sensation that he was neither as nice nor as unaffected as he pretended to be. There was a word for what he was at that moment, and he couldn't remember what it was right then. It felt a bit like being selfish, but not quite.

"Maybe I can arrange something to welcome you to the madhouse," Gwaine continued, straightening up. "But I better go before I have your partner breathing down my neck." The less than subtle glance he sent Arthur's way was proof enough that he hadn't been as subtle in his eavesdropping as he meant to be.

It didn't really matter. Merlin didn't seem to have noticed him, so he didn't have to explain himself to him. As Gwaine left, Arthur followed him out.

"You shouldn't have told him about all that with me," Arthur said before Gwaine could start in his nicknames and fast talk.

"No, I shouldn't've. You should have done that." Gwaine crossed his arms, glaring him down. "You want to try and explain to me why you didn't?"

"He didn't need to know."

"I think he did. He should know what he's getting involved with, the kinds of things he's going to come up against while standing by your side." He sighed. "You like to pretend that you're no different from anyone else. Do you actually realize what people see when they look at you?" Arthur's look must have been answer enough. "No, obviously you don't. They see someone who was born to be a leader. Someone they think they can trust, and they want to know that they can count on the people around you as well. You lucked out with your former partner. He was a tested member of the community, already established when you got here. People knew they could trust him to help you along the path you needed to go. They don't know Merlin."

"He's—"

"He's good. Yes, I know that. But not everyone does. They're going to be looking to him to help you, to support you, and for you to do the same for him. God knows he's probably one of the best people anyone could ever meet." Gwaine's eyes, which had been slightly distant, suddenly sharpened, pinning him in place. "You don't deserve him, not even a bit. But I swear to God, if you hurt him, I will find a way to destroy you, one way or another. I won't let that go unpunished."

With that, he spun and stalked away, leaving Arthur reeling, suffering under the distinct impression that he'd missed something.

He turned, absently taking off the spell that made most people ignore his presence, and stepped back into the main office Misapplied Magics.

Merlin glanced up at him. "Welcome back. I do have a question for you, though."

"Okay?" Arthur braced himself for a demand regarding his status, which apparently even he hadn't fully understood.

"How long have the Black Hand been operating? Leon showed me how to access more of the files on them, but it seems too organized to have been something put together recently."

Arthur blinked, choking back a laugh. Trust in Merlin to completely gloss over the more uncomfortable subject. He smiled. "Never change, Merlin. Don't ever stop being yourself." Then he started looking for the earliest files on the Black Hand. They did, after all, have some work to do.


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur threw himself out of bed, lunging for his phone which was making a sound not unlike a siren. He didn't bother checking the time before answering it. Time didn't exactly matter right then, as there was only one reason that particular ringtone would ever play, and that was if there was an emergency situation on the MIB's hands.

"Hello?"

 _"This is the Magical Investigation Bureau's Emergency Alert System,"_ came the cool voice of the automatic system. _"There is a Class Six threat imminent. All personnel are required to present themselves to their nearest official location and await further orders. Security of the magical community is at stake, and we ask that all members remain calm and remember the proper protocols."_ The message repeated a second time before the line disconnected. From experience, he knew the message would go out again in about ten minutes, to catch those who might have missed it or to wake the ones who fell asleep.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, already reaching for some clothes.

Merlin's training had been coming along by leaps and bounds, both magically and regarding field and office protocols. This, however, was not a situation he imagined they would run into anytime soon. He had gone over the protocols in brief, not enough for a full understanding of what was going on, but enough to function if they had come up. Class Six was not something he had mentioned yet though.

Class Six was a full call to arms because it generally dealt with some kind of direct threat to the security of the magical community and the preservation of its secrecy. Though, more specifically, it dealt with large, violent, and obviously magical creatures. The last time a Class Six threat was identified, Queen Elizabeth the First was on the throne. It was not an event to aspire to.

Throwing on his clothes quickly, he was out the door before ten minutes had passed, running down the empty streets towards the Bureau's main office. He could only hope that Merlin would be there soon.

Leon was already down on their floor, pacing back and forth in front of his desk. Arthur couldn't blame him. It was likely what he would be doing in a few minutes.

"Do we know what's going on yet?" he asked, sliding into his seat to hopefully stave off the majority of his nervous tics. The bouncing of his leg was out of sight, though not completely undetectable from the glance Leon shot his way.

"I haven't heard anything else yet. But there's not much it can be," Leon pointed out. "Wildoren, questing beast, wyverns, dragons... I can't think of anymore."

"And most of those that we know of are contained. The questing beast is magical, and it usually has a single target." A chill spread through Arthur's bones. On some deep instinctual level, he really did not want to go up against a questing beast. There was little enough to do at the best of times. Even with the whole weight of the MIB behind them, it would cause far more damage than they could cover up.

"Have you noticed anything up with Morgana lately?"

The attempt to change the subject was both obvious and desperate, but the new topic was equally difficult. Arthur had not been getting on well with his cousin for the past few weeks, and at first, he was willing to shoulder the blame for something he didn't remember doing. But Morgana even admitted half the time that he hadn't done anything worthy of her ire, and she didn't remember yelling at him in the first place.

"A few things. What have you seen?"

Leon shrugged. "Sometimes, it's like she doesn't even know who I am. She looks at me as if she's never seen me before in her life, and that's hard, because, well..."

"I know." Arthur had been one of the first ones Morgana told about pursuing a relationship with Leon. They were taking it slow, much slower than anyone else he knew, but it was sweet and passionate. And he didn't dare get in the middle of it for fear of what she would do to him. She'd made clear enough that any intervention on his part would be met with swift and violent retribution.

"So, have you? I thought it was just me, but Percival also mentioned that she seemed particularly prickly for no discernable reason."

Arthur sighed. "Honestly, I seem to be the main recipient of her ire. At first, I thought I'd done something to make her angry, but there have been too many instances of things happening that I can't account for. And she never seems to remember being angry later. Maybe we should convince her to go to the infirmary for a check-up."

"Maybe. But after this. We need everyone on this, and we can't risk losing someone to medical because of little things." Leon finally sat down in his chair. "Even if it is a lot of little things."

People were starting to trickle in with more regularity over the next ten minutes, and Arthur had graduated from leg bouncing to pacing by the time Merlin arrived.

"Any news yet?" Merlin asked, practically collapsing at his desk.

It was rare to see Merlin tired, as he was always a font of energy when they were working. But now he was rumpled and exhausted, and his hair stuck up at odd angles from the way he must have slept on it. The effect was rather adorable, enough to make Arthur's steps falter.

He had slowly been coming to a realization over the past couple weeks--one he was almost certain others had already guessed from the knowing looks he sometimes caught. He was falling in love with Merlin. It wasn't something he had expected or sought out, but Merlin, by his very nature, was easy to get along with. It was simple for him to move past any defenses Arthur had put up against romance in the workplace and stand beside him as if he'd always been there. In some way, it felt like he had been there for far longer than he could have been. In the meantime, Arthur was stuck wondering if this was a normal progression given the trust he needed to place in his partner, or if his mind and body were conspiring against him to choose a person he probably couldn't have.

That, he knew, was what hurt him more than anything else: the thought that Merlin neither wanted nor would appreciate that sort of attention on him. He'd never shown the slightest interest in Arthur, other than what was necessary for their training sessions and their work. He was utterly professional, if willing to bend or break rules should the situation call for it.

He wasn't sure if Merlin was willing to bend that far, and Arthur would never ask it of him.

"No," he replied. "We haven't heard anything else yet. As soon as Morgana gets here, we should, but I don't know what's going on any more than you do. Just some Class Six threat."

Merlin nodded. "And that's definitely something to worry about?"

"Let me put it this way," Arthur said, sitting back down at his desk. "The last time the MIB had to deal with a Class Six threat, Queen Elizabeth I was on the throne, a single dragon burned out three villages, and 26 agents were killed trying to contain it or chase it off. Regarding non-magicals, that was another 178 casualties. It was the most exposed the magical community had been or would be for the next 400 years. Not even during the trial of the Pendle witches was the situation so bad and there was nothing we could have done about it. Dragons haven't even been seen since then, which speaks to a level of intelligence that we should have been able to reason with, but either no one tried, or the dragon simply refused to be reasoned with. I can't say for sure what the situation was, as the people closest to it all died and the rest were trying to contain the damage."

His partner had been turning paler with every word he said, and Arthur wished there was a way to soften the blow, but that would be undercutting a serious situation and he wasn't about to send Merlin into it anything less than prepared for what he was going to find.

"So, it's bad. Very bad."

"This could be the thing that reveals the community." Arthur sighed, leaning forward onto his desk. "With the number of cameras in any given location, whether it's a security camera or built into someone's smartphone, I don't see how we can walk away from whatever this situation is without revealing ourselves."

"And we can't do it on our terms either, can we?"

"No. This is the sort of thing that will be completely out of our hands from the beginning. We're going to be playing catch-up to the media storm this is going to cause." He started rubbing his temple in anticipation of the headache he was going to have. His father was going to be the front man in all of this, as he was in all affairs where the regular government and the magical community crossed over. This was going to make Sunday dinners with his parents slightly more difficult with all the added stress it was inevitably going to cause for Uther Drake, stress which was going to come out in some snide remarks about the capability of his department.

Morgana arrived, sweeping into the room with the poise of a queen and the urgency of ER doctor. "Thank you all for responding with such swiftness. Earlier this morning, we received word from the Offices in Leeds that there are three dragons flying south, in the direction of London. I hope I don't have to tell you that this is not good for any of us. Dragons are one of the most difficult creatures to contain, and the MIB has had dealings with them in that past that have led to a lot of damage and the exposure of our community. As such, all members of the MIB, regardless of department, are going to be involved in this. Hopefully, we will be able to reduce the collateral damage in this instance."

There were murmurs racing through the room. As Arthur had just explained to Merlin--and those who had been eavesdropping on them--the last incident of a Class Six situation was caused by a single dragon. To hear that it was three dragons winging their way to the city was beyond worrying.

"It is my hope that we can speak and reason with the dragons, as the Offices in Leeds have also mentioned that the dragons have not caused any damage that they have noted, and they have contacted offices and communities further north to verify this," Morgana continued. "It may very well be that something has changed in their situation or in our community that has brought them out of wherever they have been hiding for the past nearly 500 years. As it is, we cannot afford to approach this situation as aggressors, but we must be vigilant should the need for force arise." She sighed but straightened. "As all of you in the Office of Misapplied Magics are recognized for your magical prowess, I need you to be part of the main group, who will go and encounter the dragons. If any of you don't feel up to the task, you may join the auxiliary group for fire and damage control."

Arthur frowned, glancing over at Merlin. He didn't want him in the thick of things, especially given how badly this exact sort of situation had gone in the past. Pushing himself upright, he crossed the room to Morgana's side when it was clear she was done speaking.

She locked eyes with him, then slowly closed them, heaving a heavy sigh. "Whatever it is, no. We have too much to deal with to have you making petty demands right now."

"I just want to have Merlin put on the team handling damage control."

"Does Merlin himself want to be on that team?" She glanced past him and he stiffened, turning back to see if there was an angry Merlin hovering behind his left shoulder.

There wasn't. He was still sitting at his desk, but he was watching Arthur curiously. "I haven't asked."

"Maybe you should."

"Morgana, please. He doesn't have enough experience to deal with something like this!"

Her eyes flickered back to him, narrowing. "Then I imagine the fault for that lies entirely at your feet. You are the one who is supposed to be training him. If he is not up to the standards to take out into the field, perhaps I should separate the two of you. Place him with someone who can actually challenge him."

"He's fine to be out in the field. For regular situations. I think we both can agree that this is far from regular."

She straightened. "If you don't think he can handle this, Arthur, then fine. Both of you can be part of the auxiliary team."

"But--"

"No. If you're going to decide that he's not ready to deal with this, without consulting him, then you are clearly not ready to deal with it yourself. Or were you not bragging the other day that he is better than you in almost everything you have managed to teach him." She smirked at him, and it wasn't playful like it usually was. There was something darker in the look, something that made parts of him he didn't know existed shudder. "Except in regard to subtlety in combat magics, I think you said, where he manages to make even the most mundane attack appear magical through the sheer force exerted."

"I thought we were going to--"

"My first concern in all of this is the safety and wellbeing of all those involved. If you think he's not ready for something like this, by all means, take him and yourself off the main group. But if you want to be on the front line--if you want to play the hero--then you are going to have your partner beside you." The edge had disappeared from her smirk, but it was still unsettling. "We need every capable mage and sorcerer we have dealing with this, and I will not watch you place one of the strongest mages in the auxiliary team because you don't want your boyfriend to get hurt."

Arthur winced. Of course, Morgana had noticed, probably a lot sooner than he had. He hated that she was now using it as ammunition against him. It was yet another point to something being wrong, that and the malicious smirk she'd been sporting a moment ago. "Fine," he replied. Backing down was the only real option here. He would be right beside Merlin should anything happen and could help lead him through anything they tried to turn back or stop the dragons. If it came to that, which he really hoped it didn't. "Fine, we'll be in the main group."

"Good." She crossed her arms. "I need you up at the front. You're one of the few people who can get everyone here to listen. If I'd had to confine you to the other group, they would have considered that admitting defeat before the dragons are even here." She glanced past him again. "You should go reassure your partner before he hurts himself worrying about this."

Arthur turned back. Merlin didn't look particularly worried, but he was uncommonly still. Merlin was almost never still and, whenever he was, it was a sign that he was ill at ease.

"Do you think we can reason with them?" he asked, once Arthur was close enough to hear his near whisper. "The dragons?"

He sighed. "Like I said, what little we know to be true about dragons suggest that, yes, we should be able to reason with them. However, the problem lies in whether they will be willing to listen to reason. We don't and can't know that with any degree of certainty that they will, or that their level of intelligence is enough that a conversation can be had. I don't--"

He paused, thinking about the first time he heard about dragons, how he was so shocked that the only one they really knew about had caused such destruction for no real reason, how betrayed he felt with that knowledge. He felt worse when he discovered that there had been an active study over the years speculating on how to hurt or kill a dragon. Older stories spoke of dragons that could talk, that had their own magics and lived thousands of years. But something had happened to those dragons, and no one could be sure that the dragons they knew and attempted to study were of the same type.

"I don't want this situation to end in fighting any more than I imagine you do. I want this to be settled peacefully. Can you imagine? Being able to talk to a dragon, to have a conversation with one... They're supposed to live far longer than any human can. What do you think they could tell us about our history?"

"I don't know," Merlin admitted, rubbing his arms. "I just don't want to kill anyone, dragon or otherwise."

"I understand that. I hope you never have to." Arthur knew that if it ever came to it, if Merlin was ever in a position where he might be forced to kill someone, he would take the choice out of his hands. Arthur had killed before and would likely kill again, and it was better for the guilt to fall on his conscience than Merlin's. He just dreaded the day he would no longer be able to protect him.

* * *

After a flurry of preparation and movement, a makeshift staging area had been set up in Hampstead Heath, the area cordoned off and protected as best they could manage on such short notice. It was their hope that the sheer number of magicals congregated in the area would draw the attention of the dragons.

They also hoped to have the whole matter settled before morning was fully upon them, but everyone present knew the difference between hoping for something achievable and wishful thinking. With dawn already painting the sky with pinks and gold on the horizon, it was only a matter of time before the vast majority of London was awake and nearby residence of the heath began wondering why it was suddenly and unexpectedly off limits.

That, however, was a matter for the Ministry of Extra Affairs. And perhaps some assistance from MI-5. Either way, it wasn't something for those in the field to deal with at that moment.

"Do we know how far out they are?" Leon asked, standing off to Arthur's left.

"Word out of Northampton about an hour given the speed they appeared to be flying." Arthur shrugged. "But that's only a guess, and it was a bit ago. It could be sooner; it could be later. Morgana sent out a few of the auxiliary teams to spy them a little further out, but I haven't heard anything yet."

Merlin shivered on his other side. "Cold out this morning, isn't it?" he remarked, rubbing his arms in an attempt to warm them.

"A bit, I suppose," Arthur agreed, though he had been out in colder weather than this. He wondered if Merlin was starting to get sick or something. Maybe it was nerves, given the situation. That was what he had been attributing Merlin's uncommon paleness to. But with the apparent chills, he had to consider sickness might also be the cause. "Do you want me to find you a parka or something?"

"No, I'll be fine," he bit out hurriedly, which only served to alarm Arthur more.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I--" He cut off, biting his lip. "It's just a feeling."

"What sort of feeling?" Arthur shifted closer, idly wishing for a spell that could keep someone warm without being as obvious as most spells were. "Morgana sometimes gets feelings about certain things, and many of those times, what she thought might happen, does."

Merlin still hesitated. "It's just... It's like someone is walking over my grave."

It was just a phrase, one Arthur had used before himself, but rarely did it feel as real as it did when he looked into Merlin's eyes. There was a sort of haunted distress in them which had him placing another point towards someone attempting to erase Merlin's memory in the past.

"You'll be fine," Arthur told him, with more force than he intended as he tried to make himself believe it as well. "We'll get through this, and then we'll take a bit to work things out."

Merlin laughed weakly. "You think things can be worked out? You think this is normal?"

In return, Arthur was able to give him a genuine grin. "We're mages. Nothing we are is ever considered normal. It's part of our charm."

Some of the tension in Merlin's shoulders eased and Arthur was more than willing to call it a success for the time being. "I suppose you're right," he admitted. "I'm probably just being silly."

"Well, I wouldn't say you were being silly. Just on edge, like the rest of us. I almost wish Gwaine was here to make the waiting a bit easier." He glanced sideways at Merlin. "Even if he is more trouble than he's worth most of the time."

"He's not that bad." Merlin pushed at Arthur. "Besides, he says the same of you."

"Oh, I know what he says about me. Some tosser throwing about his weigh because of who he is and what he has. Half the time, I think he hates me because of what I've been given in life, the rest of the time, I think he resents that I have it and he doesn't. I think we could've been friends if he hadn't heard so much about me before we actually met."

"Maybe you could fix that," Merlin suggested. "Show him that you aren't just some prat travelling further up the ladder than you were meant to go."

"Excuse you, what do you mean 'just'?"

Merlin grinned widely. "I suppose you wouldn't have noticed how big your head has been getting. It really is quite large."

"It is not!"

Suddenly a cry arose from those behind them, the ones who were paying far more attention to the sky than to each other. Instantly, Arthur was on guard, and he watched the coil of tension wind its way back into Merlin's body. Magic pooled in Arthur's fingertips, ready to be cast at a moment's notice. There was enough light now that the three shapes wheeling overhead were clearly visible, dark against the sky.

This was it. This was the first time humans would encounter dragons in almost five hundred years, and Arthur didn't know if they were ready for it. He didn't know if they would ever be ready for it.

Beside him, Merlin stiffened, his gaze locked on the largest of the three. Then, something odd happened.

Merlin shuddered, shaking off all of the tension he'd been holding, and his head and shoulders dropped, his chin almost touching his chest. From far deeper than Arthur would have thought him capable, Merlin began chanting something that was decidedly not Old English. " **O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!** "

Above them, the dragons wheeled around yet again, but this time, they were coming lower. Arthur stepped ahead of Merlin, prepared to protect him from whatever happened next. When he dared to look back at his partner, there was a look of such determination and confidence on his face that Arthur wasn't sure anymore what he should do. He stood, fixed to the spot as Merlin moved around him while the dragons dipped lower.

Finally, with an impact that shook the ground, the dragons landed in front of them. Only then did Merlin's steps falter and the man that Arthur had grown familiar with returned to his body. He stumbled back into Arthur, turning to him with confusion in his eyes.

"Well met, young warlock," the largest dragon rumbled, bowing to Merlin. "It has been some time since I was called from the skies by that tongue."

Merlin turned back to the dragons, who were all regarding him with some interest, offering an unsteady bow in return. "I don't-- What-- I didn't--"

"Time and circumstance have not been kind to either of us, it seems." The dragon nodded. Besides being the largest, it also had the strangest coloring. At first, it appeared almost white, but in the growing light its scales had taken on an opalescent sheen. "I am Aithusa, oldest of the dragons yet living. At my right is Sotrios, and Efthymia stands at my left flank. We have come to call forth and take part in a meeting of the Council of Magic. We mean no harm to you or any of yours."

"Oh." Merlin looked back to Arthur, who stood forward at his side.

"Welcome and well met, Aithusa, Sotrios, and Efthymia. I feel I must apologize for our numbers and our force. We did not know what to expect."

"There is no offense taken, young mage. I, more than my children here, well remember why human magic users have cause to fear our kind. Grave was the mistake made that day, and gravely was it answered. I regret that I can offer no further peace to the matter more than what is already long settled." Aithusa drew up to their full standing height, which dwarfed all humans on the ground. "Come, let us move to more private places. We are not meant for the wider world and have taken great pains to keep our presence hidden."

As Arthur turned to lead the dragons--though he was unsure where he was meant to lead them--he noticed Merlin swaying where he stood.

"Arthur," he whispered. "I think something's wrong." He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out but a small groaning gasp as he collapsed where he stood.

Arthur lunged to catch him, barely managing it before he hit the group. Hefting Merlin's too light body into his arms, he turned to Leon.

"Go," Leon told him firmly. "Take care of him. I can deal with this."

Arthur was already whispering the transportation spell before Leon finished speaking. He didn't know what was happening to Merlin, but he was going to find out once and for all.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur appeared in the Infirmary holding Merlin. Without even acknowledging the medic on duty, he placed him on one of the beds and stepped back. He'd been in the beds often enough to know proper protocol, and how hovering really only ever got in the way. Not that it usually stopped him or anyone he knew, but they had enough sense to hover with a bit more distance.

"Arthur," Gaius muttered. "I should have known that today of all days, I would be seeing you."

The aging physician was rather spry for an old man. He didn't use as much active magic that anyone had seen, but Arthur was convinced he used some of it all the time to keep track of his patients and run them down if need be. At the moment, however, he was less inclined to throw barbs as he usually did. "Can you help him?"

"Ah, I suppose this is Merlin, then? I hadn't yet had the chance to meet him. Not that being on such amiable speaking terms with me bodes well for anyone's health. Least of all, yours, Arthur." The attempt at humor fell flat as Arthur couldn't even manage a token chuckle as he stared down at Merlin. “Never let it be said that I never tried to make visits with me less painful."

"Can you help him?" Arthur repeated.

"Well, first I need to examine him, if you'll let me get to it. Now, what happened?" Gaius crossed to the bed where Merlin was laying.

There was a little bit of blood trickling out of his nose, and Arthur couldn't convince himself that he couldn't have seen any of the signs that had led to this. Whatever this was. "We were waiting for the dragons, just talking to keep our minds off worrying about what was going to happen. Then the dragons were spotted. After Merlin saw them, it was like he wasn't himself anymore. Like he was possessed. He shouted something at the dragons, I don't know what it was, but they came down and bowed to him." As he thought about it, he really should have been more concerned in the moment that the dragons would bow to Merlin.

"Really? They bowed?" Gaius asked. He looked down at Merlin's still form in shock. "I thought they had all died out. There was no evidence of it in any of the bloodlines."

"Evidence of what? Do you know what's wrong with him?"

Gaius patted Arthur's arm. "As far as I can tell, he merely over-extended himself a bit. If I were to guess, he's been constantly using low-grade spells for almost six hours, and then he awoke in his power as a dragonlord."

"Dragonlord? I thought they had died out."

Gaius hummed as he brought over a blanket to stretch out over the unconscious mage. "I was of the same opinion until you told me he called them out of the sky. Only dragonlords can do that, and the last of them was supposedly Merlin himself."

"And he didn't have any offspring."

"That we know of." Shrugging, Gaius returned to his desk, where he was mixing a few potions they needed regularly. "Given your partner has just awoken to that power, I think we need to consider the possibility that Merlin may have had a child or two that the rest of the community never became aware of."

"But if that was the case, wouldn't someone have come forward before? Wouldn't they know they were dragonlords?"

Gaius shrugged again. "Who can know for sure? I suspect that the need for that power to break through never arose, so they went about their lives unaware or unbothered by their power. It never awoke because they were never in the presence of dragons."

"Then what about the incident in 1548? Wouldn't they have awoken then if they were part of the community?"

"Perhaps," Gaius began, taking off his glasses and setting them on the table beside him. "Perhaps we need to consider the possibility that the dragonlord of the time—if there was indeed a dragonlord of the time—was either too young or too far away to do anything? Or perhaps they were one of those killed, ignorant of the power they held to stop it. Nowhere in the stories I've read is it said that dragonlords are as immune to fire as their scaly fellows. Quite the contrary, in fact, as many were burned alongside other magic users during the Great Purge by Uther Pendragon."

"But Merlin will be fine, won't he?"

"As I said—should I check your hearing?—he merely over-extended himself. Given the magic he appears to contain, it doesn't surprise me that he didn't recognize the signs of it before. He's likely never had to do as much as he did today."

Arthur sat down across the room and waited. As much as he wanted to know what was going on with the dragons and where Leon would be taking them, he was more concerned with making sure that Merlin was going to be okay. It wasn't that he didn't trust Gaius to do his job, more that he needed the assurance that he would be there if anything changed.

Two hours passed before Merlin stirred and sat up, and only then did Arthur feel like he could breathe.

"Where am I?" he asked groggily. He tilted his head, his eyes drifting towards Gaius. "Who are you?"

"Steady, Merlin," Gaius told him, returning to his bedside. "My name is Gaius, and I'm a doctor. You are in the infirmary at the MIB. Do you remember what happened?"

Merlin blinked blearily. "I didn't feel right. Like someone was stirring up my insides with a spoon."

"I suppose that's how some might feel. You were using too much magic, and the issue of that was merely compounded when you awoke as a dragonlord."

"Dragonlord? What's that supposed to mean?"

Arthur stepped up. "It wasn't something we talked about because it was thought to be a dead talent. That, and nothing of it came up when you were tested for some magical heritage."

"Nothing came up when I was tested for magical heritage, and you said you had ever heard of that happening before!" Merlin sighed, rubbing his head. "What is a dragonlord? What is it supposed to be, and why do you think I'm it?"

"Well, for one, you were able to command a dragon," Gaius put in. "Moreover, the dragon recognized a kind of kinship in you, which is indicative only of a dragonlord." He frowned. "It is unusual that nothing would appear in a search of your heritage."

Before more could be said or speculated, Morgana appeared in the door of the infirmary. "Ah good, you're awake. Merlin, we need you down in the largest training room. The dragons have called a meeting of the council and they request that you be there."

Merlin and Arthur both nodded. This was not something either of them would or could argue with. Arguing with a dragon in general seemed like a life-threatening undertaking.

Merlin pushed back the blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and though Arthur tried not to hover, he didn't think his attempts at nonchalance fooled anyone. Not even Gaius from the smirk he was giving him.

* * *

Morgana was silent as she led them down to the training rooms. While she wasn't possessed of the spirit to talk without meaning, it was unlike her to be so cold, especially in a situation such as this one.

"Are you alright?" he asked, moving up to walk beside her.

"I'm fine." The curt way she bit out the words, however, indicated that she was anything but fine.

"Have you been to see Gaius recently?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes."

"Is something wrong?"

She stopped in her tracks, whirling to face him. "Arthur. I have told you that I'm fine. I've told you that my health is none of your business. I would thank you to leave it there, as I do not want to have this discussion again."

She stalked away, her heels clicking on the floors while Arthur stood frozen.

"That wasn't the best way to mention that you're worried about her," Merlin ventured, coming up even with him.

"Yes, thank you. I realized that." He sighed. "I really don't know what's happened to her lately. She's not usually this scattered."

"So you've said." Merlin shifted before starting forward again. "What can you tell me about this council?"

The attempt to change the subject was obvious, but Arthur allowed himself to be led into it. "If, as I suspect, this is a full meeting that's been called, it hasn't met in about a thousand years. The last one I remember hearing about was just after Merlin's death. He was a dragonlord, and I think he was the one who founded the Council of Magic. He brought the dragons and offered places on it to any of the other magical groups. A full Council hasn't met in all that time because there are certain roles that need to be filled before the meeting can be considered open, and not all of them were in a place or position to be contacted."

"Who would they need for it?"

"The dragons, obviously, who can represent themselves. A Speaker for the Beasts, who is charged with caring for the needs of the magical creatures. The Sidhe would want someone present in any decisions made, even if they don't often spend time in our world. They typically stand up as the representatives of all Fae. Then, the recognized head of the magical community would also need to be present. Before, it was Merlin, then whoever the people chose to represent them. Now, I suppose it would be..." Arthur frowned as what he was about to say encountered his mental filter. It seemed absurd, ridiculous even, what he had realized, and he couldn't help but wonder where, in the long memory of the magical community, someone had decided on it. "I suppose that would be my father, as the Minister of Magical Affairs."

Merlin paused. "Didn't you tell me he wasn't magical?"

"He's not. The Council hasn't met in so long, I don't think any of us could have considered that this might be an issue. That it would ever happen. But I suppose we are still technically part of and existing within the non-magical world. They should be part of this conversation."

They stepped into the largest training room which, given the size and number of the beings present, still appeared to have room enough for more. The dragons, all three of them, were settled towards the back, allowing for the smaller individuals to move about the space without fear of being crush by them adjusting their position. The central stone of the room had raised into a sort of table and a collection of chairs and benches had been provided for the Council members.

There were more present than Arthur had been expecting on such short notice. His father was seated halfway around the table, the mask of a politician firmly in place. Although he had seen Arthur, the mask had not faltered in the slightest, not even in recognition. Arthur wished he wasn't so used to being taken for granted. But then, his father had never taken well to his desire to be a member of the MIB rather than a Member of Parliament. There was considerably more tension in Uther's jaw than there normally was, likely because he wasn't used to dealing with the non-human members of the magical community.

Between Uther and the dragons was an extremely beautiful woman, with sharp aristocratic features and eyes so blue they looked like they could be cut sapphires. There was a light dusting of blue in her cheeks as well which, more than the silver circlet in her amber hair and the attendants clustered around her like a flock of hummingbirds, identified her as the Princess of the Sidhe. She and the dragon Aithusa would have been the only ones to have sat with the Council the last time it was called in full. While the Sidhe rarely ventured into the mortal world, when they did, it was always on the orders from or in the presence of their Princess.

On the opposite side of the dragons was an old man with a sort of liveliness and intelligence that he seemed both younger and older than he appeared at the same time. Hanging from a ring in his ear was a strange silver feather that glittered in the light, more than even actual silver would. He was calm and appeared well-mannered, with a cane resting on his lap beneath his folded hands. The small bird sitting the man's shoulder, opposite the side with the feather earring, made Arthur relatively certain that this was the Speaker of the Beasts.

Morgana was sitting beside him, prim and well put together as always. She spared only the scarcest of glances at Arthur and Merlin as they entered the room. Of course, since Arthur's father was sitting on the Council but lacked magic of his own, it would fall to a mage in a similar position, like Morgana, to represent the actual magicals and their interest. Though, now he thought about it, he wondered if that wasn't the original intention of the Council, but the world and the people in it hadn't been prepared to sit in a meeting of equals like that. Even during the time of Merlin, magicals were living under the threat of death, the Great Purge not long from people's memories and the effects of it still felt throughout the various kingdoms. But now, with the witch trials existing as part of their distant past and the Purge itself reduced to stories that bordered on myths, it was more or less safe to bring together the mundane and magical communities toward a common goal.

"Ah," Aithusa rumbled. "Now we are gathered and the circle is complete. Please, join us and let the chamber be sealed."

Arthur took a step back, letting Merlin pass ahead of him. He was, after all, the one they wanted for this. Arthur was still attempting to wrap his mind around the fact that Merlin was a dragonlord. This morning with its rude awakenings and its uncertainty seemed so far away from this moment, with the full Council of Magic gathered for the first time in a millennium.

"Why do you step back, Pendragon?" The Princess of the Sidhe asked, her gaze fixed on Arthur, pinning him in place.

"What?" Arthur froze. He had rarely listened to his teachers for policy and polite conversation. He had always known what he wanted to do with his life, but his father has insisted he take some of the lessons so he wouldn't make a fool of himself amongst members of high government when they inevitably met. These lessons did not cover how to ask royalty what the fuck they were talking about. And even if it had, he didn't think the same rules would apply to Sidhe royalty.

"As Aithusa said, the circle is complete. The Council has never met in full because the circle could not be completed. But now the Emrys and the Pendragon are found, and should take their places at the table."

"I'm sorry," Morgana cut in. "I don't understand. I thought those were honorary positions of some sort."

Aithusa chuckled. "Only in that the souls meant to sit in the seats were not in the world at that time. They have, at times, been called by other names. The Pendragon, the High King. The Emrys, the High Warlock." The dragon reached out a claw across the table to tap the last two places. It was in that moment Arthur realized that Aithusa had never given any indication of their gender, neither in word nor in appearance. This wasn't a problem, exactly, but it was something he realized as he reflexively attempted to gender them in his head.

"Why do you think I'm the Pendragon?" Arthur asked, dragging his thoughts back to the Council. "How can you be sure?"

"Are you trying to say that I'm this Emrys?" Merlin cut in beside him.

"Precisely." Aithusa had a calm, self-assured expression on their face, though the Sidhe Princess looked mildly offended at the suggestion she might be wrong about this. "Brígh and I well remember the first Pendragon and the first Emrys. Though the Emrys has returned many times, there has only ever been one Pendragon. Only one High King."

"I hate to interrupt," Uther said smoothly, his politician's calm demeanor betraying nothing of his thoughts, though his posture and movements, few as they were, were stilted and harsh to Arthur's mind. His father was rarely loud in his anger, but he still found ways to make it hurt. "But the United Kingdom has a monarch and a ruling body and, despite my best efforts to sway him, my son is no part of either such group."

There, Arthur noted, was the less than subtle dig he had come to expect from his father, though the tone used had been light, almost joking. Accompanying it was the flat line of his lips that tipped ever so slightly towards a frown. While not quite visible enough to those who wouldn't know to look for it, it was sharp as broken glass to one who had been on the receiving end of it several times in his life.

"The High King is not for mortals," Princess Brígh sneered. At Aithusa's pointed look, she amended, "They are not just for mortals. The High Warlock is the Champion of Magic, and the High King is the ruler of Magic. Theirs is meant to be a position of power and regard, of absolute authority. Not even your current monarchs entertain that." Her tone was almost scandalized, and it took more effort than it should have to keep Arthur from chuckling at her indignation.

"Yes," Morgana allowed, her tone placating. "But how can you be certain that they are the ones meant to be in these positions? Merlin didn't even know about the magical community until recently and, impressive as his record may be, Arthur is not... unique among the people here."

He tried not to let the words sting as much as they did. He expected that kind of observation from his father, with his disappointment over Arthur's decisions in life. But until recently, he and Morgana had been on good terms. Not even the discussion in the hall earlier merited such a callous observation.

Aithusa sighed. "It would be the two of you to bring such matters to this. But theirs is a destiny written on their very souls and cast through time. Time as you know it is not the factor you think it is. It does not dim my sight, nor does it cloud our ability to recognize those we have been waiting for. Such is human fallibility, and we are not human." They turned to Uther. "As for your queen and your government, the High King is not a part of that. As Brígh said, his place is among the magicals, a point of unification for scattered and discordant pieces of their community. And it is a legacy passed on through destiny that he sits in this place." He turned back to Morgana. "And as for Merlin, knowledge of the magical community is not what makes a human a warlock. The position of High Warlock is a birthright and a reminder of how cruel the world may be to the magicals. And how cruel magicals can be in return."

Arthur wasn't sure how to interpret the look Aithusa had fixed on Morgana. She fidgeted in her seat, but still looked ready to fight her point.

The Speaker of Beasts stood and crossed the room, holding out his hand to Arthur. "I am called Greer. It is a pleasure to meet you. I was brought up with the promises of what the return of the High King and the High Warlock would mean."

"What do you mean? What promises?"

Greer took back his hand. "I'm told that magic hasn't been the same. My mentors could never explain what they meant by it, as that was what they had been told, but they said that magic had changed, and not all of it for the better. They said that the High King and the High Warlock would return when they were needed, and you have."

"Needed?" Merlin echoed faintly. "Needed for what?"

"I know only what I was told."

"This is ridiculous," Uther cut in. "And we are getting nowhere."

"I agree," Princess Brígh said, sitting up straighter. "We know that these two are the last members of the Council, and they should take their seats so we can begin the meeting."

Merlin crossed to the seat in front of Arthur and sat down. He had more or less folded in on himself in the midst of all the fighting and looked grateful that it seemed to have ended. Arthur took the last seat after Greer returned to his place, trying not to let his father see how glad he was to have Merlin as a buffer between them. It didn't matter how successful an attempt it was, as his father was looking at Merlin with the expression of someone looking at a phenomenon they found both fascinating and disgusting at the same time.

Perhaps he and his father would be having words this weekend. If he decided to go back to the house at all. Merlin didn't deserve any of Uther's derision, and Arthur would be sure his father knew that, even if he had to enlist his mother's help in getting him to listen.

"What is all this about destiny?" he asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present. Merlin would want these answers too, he was sure, and they appeared to be in this together, for better or worse.

"Destiny is a driving force in the world, mundane or magical. It defines the paths we walk, even if it is not always kind." Aithusa offered him a sad smile. "Not all paths are straightforward, nor are they all kind to those who walk them. In my life, there have been many who attempted to destroy me, who wanted to control me for their own ends, and I was not always aware of the difference between those who cared and those who did not. Both of you have a difficult path ahead of you, and you have only reached the beginning of it." They looked away. "I dare not tell you, should my words affect what should not be altered."

Morgana crossed her arms. "If we are to get no answers in that respect, perhaps we should move on to why you have called together the Council."

The other dragons with Aithusa glanced at them.

"She's very impatient," Efthymia said. She was the smallest of the dragons, and her scales had a similar pearlescent sheen to Aithusa's, but the dominant color was closer to gold. "You didn't say she was so angry."

"No, she was always angry in the stories," Sotrios interrupted.

"Children." There was an edge to Aithusa's voice. "Now is not the time."

"What?" Morgana asked sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"You were in their stories," Greer told her, his posture open and guileless even while appearing to lounge completely at ease in his chair. "You were in the one's I was told as well, but I don't think you were the same person then." He glanced over at Uther. "You were in them to. Arthur and Merlin, Morgana and Uther. They were some of the oldest stories, the ones not even mundanes can forget completely."

The title of 'Pendragon' had been niggling something at the back of Arthur's mind, and he hadn't been really concentrating on what it was. But when Greer said their names together, everything clicked into place. "You mean the stories of King Arthur!"

"You decided my son is your High King because he shares his name with King Arthur of Camelot?" Uther demanded, incredulous. "And you claim that it's destiny?"

"It is destiny." The Sidhe princess's eyes blazed. "It is not because of the name or the form, foolish man. Destiny cares not for the form it takes, merely the sequence of events and their placement in time. You cannot cheat destiny of what rightfully belongs to it, and no amount of arguing will change the fact that Arthur is the High King, the Once and Future, and we have been waiting for longer than your petty histories for his arrival. We have been waiting for the culmination of destiny for longer than your name has existed, and this is only the second time in all of mortal and immortal history that the High King and the High Warlock have been living at the same time." She turned to Merlin. "We have waited so long since we were forced to lock the Warlock away."

Across the table, Morgana shot up. She was swaying when Arthur turned to look, and suddenly blood started dripping out her nose, dark against the white stone of the table. Stumbling back a couple of paces, she locked eyes with Arthur, before crumbling to the ground.


	10. Chapter 10

The room was frozen, but Arthur raced forward to pick Morgana up off the floor and Merlin was only a step behind him.

"We need to get her up to the infirmary," he whispered, leading Arthur toward the door. Before he reached it, Merlin turned to the rest of the Council. "I'm sure you understand, but this is far more important than sitting and arguing about everything."

In spite of himself, Arthur smiled. Merlin was finally acting like his cheeky self again, and that was one bit of good news at least.

The doorway unsealed itself as he carried Morgana toward it. While it might have been slightly faster to simply teleport to the infirmary, such magic didn't work in the MIB offices for obvious security reasons.

She was light in his arms, far lighter than he thought she should be. Whatever had been happening with her hadn't been good for her health and well-being. He could only hope that Gaius would be able to pinpoint the problem and deal with it.

Merlin was at his side as he stepped into the elevator and took it back up to the infirmary. "Is she going to be alright, do you think?" he asked, pulling a handkerchief from somewhere and wiping away some of the blood on her face. "I mean, it doesn't look good, but she doesn't deserve this."

"No, she doesn't." Arthur adjusted his grip on her and her head lolled against his shoulder. "I don't know. I've never seen anything like this."

"Gaius should be able to do something for her, though, right?"

"We can only hope." Arthur didn't want to mention the times that some kind of malicious magic had stolen members of the MIB from them, how something as simple as an animation spell had gone horribly wrong while Arthur was confined to a be in the infirmary, and how he could do nothing but watch as the person they were trying to save slowly turned to stone. No amount of reanimation spells had been able to return the person to life, though they had managed to turn the body back to flesh.

Gaius looked up as they walked in and turned visibly paler at the sight of Morgana in Arthur's arms. "Set her down on the bed. I told her she should come in for a check-up weeks ago."

"She said she had."

"Arthur, she's as bad as you are when it comes to check-ups. You should know this." He sighed, moving to her side to check her vitals. "I fear this is more serious than even I was expecting. When Leon mentioned she was having strange mood swings and seemed to be forgetting things, I thought it might be exhaustion. She has been working later over the past few months. But this..." He frowned down at the blood staining her lip. "This looks like an attack of some sort. A curse, perhaps."

"A curse? What kind of curse could cause all this?"

"I don't know." Gaius glanced up at him, then at Merlin. "I think the two of you need to search her office, see if you can find something that might have caused this. Anything that looks out of place or could point to what might have happened. I don't know how much I'm going to be able to get from my readings, but as she spends the most time in there, it's the most likely place to find some indication of the cause of this. If it is a curse, perhaps it's likely whatever item delivered the curse is there."

"Will she be alright?" Merlin asked. "Will you be able to fix it?"

Arthur had a sudden stab of jealousy as it occurred to him Merlin might like Morgana. True, he would know by now that Morgana was in a relationship with Leon, but even then, he would have no reason to care about Arthur in the same way. Shoving the feeling aside, he decided to focus on more pressing issues. Morgana was his cousin, and he loved her. He loved the moments they would get into a battle of wits in the halls, insulting one another playfully until the people around them begged them to stop for the sake of peace. He loved knowing that she was largely only concerned with his well-being, even when she took actions that seemed punitive to him. He wanted her to realize that he cared just as much about her, even if he didn't always mention it. She was like a sister to him, and he definitely didn't want to know what life would be like if she wasn't there.

"I don't know," Gaius admitted. "I hope so, though."

"We'll leave you to it," Arthur cut in. "Come on, Merlin. We have something we need to do."

* * *

It had been a while since Arthur had been in Morgana's office, but he hadn't been expecting it to be this different. Normally, she kept the room scrupulously clean. She wasn't obsessed with keeping everything in a very specific order, but she often regaled him with the merits of a clean office space upon visiting his more cluttered desk.

Now, it was like something or someone had torn through her office. There were papers scattered across her desk and floor, some crumpled and stained with ink and what looked alarmingly like blood. There were tissues also stained with blood tossed in the general vicinity of the garbage bin—tissue which could only have been used that day, as the bins were emptied every night for the sake of security and sanitation. The books which sat by the window behind her desk had been shoved onto the floor and left where they lay, folding the pages in awkward shapes. In the corner, there was broken glass glittering against the carpet, and a damp spot where some sort of liquid—water, most likely—had seeped into it.

"It wasn't like this last time," Merlin murmured. "Did someone already search through here?"

"I don't think so," Arthur said, though it chilled him to do so. "I think Morgana did this."

He wondered how long it had been since someone else was in her office. Something as extensive as this was sure to be noticed and gossiped about, unless she had done something to prevent people from noticing. This was, to his mind, a visual representation of everything that was currently wrong with Morgana. Something was wrong in her head, something had changed, and they didn't know what that might be.

"Before we touch anything in here, we need gloves." Arthur turned back the way they had come. "If we're dealing with something that might have cursed her, there's no telling what it might be, and I don't want to risk either of us running afoul of it."

It was a quick dash down to their desks, as all members of the office of Misapplied Magics had a pair of gloves to ward off the effects of any cursed items. Merlin had never used his, as they hadn't been out in the field for anything more major than taking a statement from someone whose enchanted items had been stolen, but even he had them. Arthur had been sure to get a pair like his, which stood up to more than the standard variety of curses people tended to put on objects. Working with him would eventually bring Merlin in contact with some of the worst people and the worst spells ever conceived by man. In those instances, it was better to be seen as paranoid than to be underprepared.

When they returned to the room, Arthur had to take another moment to stare at the mess. Whatever had happened to Morgana, it was destroying who she was. She would never have let her office get into such a state. She would have scoffed at the very idea of neglecting her space to this degree. There was, upon second viewing, a sensation of madness and desperation to everything he was seeing, like she had been searching frantically for something, but nothing was making sense.

Even where he was standing, nothing was making sense.

Merlin started picking up the paperwork off the floor, setting it aside in a neat pile by the door where they could go over it later. Arthur moved to her desk and sat down, starting to do the same with the paperwork on it, wincing when one of the piles slipped onto the floor.

"It's fine," Merlin told him, going to pick it up before Arthur could move. "She has let it accumulate, hasn't she?"

"I think this is just how much she has in any given day." He smiled ruefully. "There is a reason I'd like to stay where I am in Misapplied Magics, and it has everything to do with the sheer volume of paperwork everyone else has to do."

Going back to his work, he started paying more attention to the paperwork he was shifting. There were forms for item requisition, papers needed her signature to approve certain uses of artifacts they held in storage for research purposes. A small cluster of applications was part of the deluge, all for various positions throughout the MIB, as well as a couple transfer requests from a couple of the branches up north. None of them had been addressed that he could see, shoved to the side and buried under a small mound of food wrappers. He transferred the wrappers to the bin after checking through it for anything unusual. Other than a couple crumpled up forms, which he summarily rescued since he couldn't be sure as to their original intended fate, there wasn't anything interesting among the trash.

By the time he had the top of the desk in some semblance of order, Merlin was picking up the books that had ended up on the floor, whispering a restoration spell or two as necessary.

Arthur set the paperwork to the side and started opening the drawers in the desk. In the first, he found a packet of blank forms resting on top of her computer. Normally, the computer was out on the desk, but it didn't look like she had used it for a while since it was under the forms. The top drawer on the opposite side of the desk was filled with pens, pencils, and other writing utensils, as well as the usual assortment of office supplies. There was a small box in the back of the drawer with a small magical presence. When he opened it, it started playing a simple meandering tune coupled with a charm that boosted the listeners ability to focus on their task. He snorted.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, glancing up and catching sight of the little box. "Find something?"

"I just realized how Morgana copes with all of the paperwork normally."

"A music box?"

"It's spelled to help the listener focus, which makes them more efficient at their work." He closed it, smiling. "I think it was a gift from her mother. Aunt Sirene likes making little trinkets like these and giving them out to members of the family. Mine was a bit more tongue in cheek. She made a bottle that would turn any liquid put in it into a deodorizer. Apparently she didn't like the way I smelled, but she was the one who always managed to track me down after I'd gone for a run and before I'd been able to get a shower."

"I suppose it's useful," Merlin replied diplomatically.

"That it is. But not on me. I put water in it and spray down my flat whenever it starts smelling strange." He put the box back. He'd seen it sitting on her desk before anything strange started happening to Morgana, and her mother would never attack her for any reason. She loved her daughter.

In the bottom drawer on the left-hand side of the desk, under the drawer with the office supplies, Arthur found her purse. There were a couple items in it with trace bits of magic, but these felt like her mother's magic as well. With a sigh, knowing that even the Morgana he grew up with would be upset with him for messing about in her purse, he carefully unpacked it. One of the enchanted items was a perfume bottle that seemed to have a similar enchantment as the deodorizer bottle he had at home. It was almost certainly his aunt's work.

The other object was attached to Morgana's keys. It looked like an ordinary key fob, a flat bit of hardened clay with a simple vine and leaves design stamped into one side, but the other side had a word carved into it, written in Old English. Freod: peace. It was fairly standard for protective amulets, though they weren't usually kept with one's keys. All of the protection amulets Arthur had seen were hung on a leather cord and worn around the neck, or they were incorporated in some kind of bracelet or cuff, something that wouldn't get in the way of everyday work.

He really had no place to judge Morgana, as he had an amulet, a metal wrist cuff, that he usually kept in his desk, only bothering to put it on when he was going out into the field on an assignment that seemed particularly dangerous.

Other than those two items, everything else in her purse seemed normal from what he knew of Morgana. The four cylinders of mace and the spare set of handcuffs had him chuckling to himself. He was not the only member of his family to subscribe to the philosophy of the overprepared. Although she had magic to defend herself, clearly she wanted something for the times she was too exposed to use it. Carefully, he put everything back in her purse and placed it back in the drawer.

Arthur opened the last drawer and found a notebook and a pen. Glancing toward Merlin, he saw that his partner had moved on to searching the cabinets built into the walls and floor. One or two would require magic to open them, but Arthur was confident Merlin would be able to handle it.

Setting the pen to the side on the desk, he opened the notebook he'd found and was immediately assaulted with scribbling and sketches pouring over one another like she couldn't find the space to fit everything she was trying to write. In cramped characters near the spine were a series of four-digit numbers in ascending numerical order.

_1082_

_1244_

_1367_

_1471_

_1556_

_1703_

_1839_

He stared at them for a while, trying to figure out what they might mean. They didn't seem especially significant to one another, nor did they spark anything in his memory. At best, they looked like years, but he couldn't think of any specific historical significance to any of the years.

Turning over the page, he first noted that it was cleaner and less cramped than the last page. At the top, Morgana had written '1839' in large characters by way of a heading. Beneath it, she had a list of names: Gabriella, Mary, Francis, Elliot, Alexander, Hortense, Sylvia, Franklin... There were several other names vehemently crossed out and he could only make out pieces of them. One started with an 'M' with a 'g' somewhere in the middle before ending with what looked like an 's-e'. Another started and ended with a 'C' with a taller letter of some sort in the middle, a 't', 'l', 'd', or 'b'.

At the bottom of the page, there was another four-digit number, 1873. But its meaning was clearer as she prefaced it with the word 'died'.

Arthur froze, turning back the page to look at the dates. He was sure they were dates now, but he still couldn't remember anything of any significance happening in those years. But if they were birth years, whose were they? Who was Morgana looking into that she had these specific names and dates?

Ghosts, in spite of all the stories, didn't actually exist unless someone performed a kind of magic that upended the balance of the world, and that usually had further reaching consequences than just the person who performed or utilized the magic. Possession was not one of those consequences. The usual consequence for meddling in the balance of life and death was death.

Arthur turned over the page again. The date at the top of that one was 1703. There was another collection of names on this page. Most were typical English or French names. There were even a couple of Spanish names listed, but the one that immediate caught his eye was underlined heavily. 'Morgause'.

It sent a chill down his spine and he didn't even know why. He remembered where he'd heard the name. She was one of the last priestesses of the Old Religion, as magic was called around the time of Merlin. Her death was used split the veil between life and death, and the whole of England had suffered for it. What he found most terrifying about the woman was the fact that she had gone to this end willingly, had even advised the Morgana of King Arthur's time to do it, and all in the name of revenge and usurpation.

It couldn't be the same person, not after about six hundred years, but there was still something unnerving about a person who was willing to commit so deeply to what they believed in that they would allow themselves to be part of ritual that threw the whole world out of balance. A balance she was meant to uphold.

He turned over the page again. The dates were going backwards from the latest to the earliest. On the pages for 1471, there was a person named Merlin listed, and Arthur glanced toward his partner. It wasn't surprising that he wasn't the only one named after the famous mage, but he had to wonder if there was some significance to the inclusion of that Merlin. Especially since it, like the name Morgause which also appeared on the page, was heavily underlined.

The pages all had a kind of shorthand that Arthur had never seen before. He knew Morgana had ways of making notes that she could keep totally secure, but it was hindering his ability to understand what he was looking at. For every name, there were some short notes made, but he couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a description of their physical appearance, their character, or if it was completely arbitrary and unrelated to any of the names.

"Arthur?" Merlin was standing in front of an open cabinet. "Do you recognize this?"

Leaving the notebook open to the pages on 1244, where yet another Merlin was listed, he crossed to the cabinet and looked inside. Sitting a small plush box was a large fist-sized crystal which radiated pure energy. He blinked. He did know it but couldn't remember exactly where he'd seen it.

"Wasn't she looking that over the day you gave me a tour of the Records offices?"

"That's it! But why would she have it here? If it was anywhere, I would have thought it would still be down in Records, somewhere in the archive of confiscated artifacts and enchanted items. It was that crystal picked up from the smugglers I stumbled into."

"Gwaine said she had him looking into it, that it might have been made by my legendary namesake. The Galdre's Gemod, I think he called it."

"Galdre's Gemod, you're sure?"

Merlin shrugged. "It was a little while ago, but I think that's what he said. He didn't bother to say what it meant, and I haven't had time to get to fluency in Old English quite yet."

"The magician's heart. That's what it means. Although what that is meant to signify is anyone's guess. Names often give some indication of their function, so it must have something to do with mages specifically. Other than that, I don't know." He gingerly moved closer to the crystal, trying to feel out the sensation of the magic pouring off it. It was powerful, intoxicating really, and he wasn't sure how he hadn't felt it the moment they stepped into the room.

A simple examination of the cabinet itself gave him the answer to that. It was shielded against magic, specifically built to mask any magical trace inside until it was opened. By the time Merlin had opened it, he had been too wrapped up in the notebook and its strange secrets to notice.

"We should take it to Gaius, see if this might be what caused it," Arthur said, straightening. "It's the most magical thing we've found, and even just standing here I can feel how much it's trying to fill the space with its own magic." He shivered. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, having a foreign magic push against his own. "We know that she touched it without any sort of protection the day I was showing you around, when she put it back on the examination stand. She must have assumed that nothing was wrong when nothing happened, but never bothered to see Gaius about it."

"Right." Merlin moved forward to pick up the box, careful not to touch the crystal itself, even with the gloves on. "Did you find anything in the desk?"

Arthur glanced back at the notebook. "I think I might have. I'm not sure what it is though. Without Morgana, I'm not sure how to interpret most of it, but every page has a list of names."

He crossed back to the desk, looking down at it. In addition to the 'Merlin', there was another 'Morgause' listed. It wasn't as unlikely a name to be on there during that time period, but it still unnerved him.

He turned over the page to the last date and froze. 'Arthur' was the first name on the page, but there were other names, more familiar and more confusing. Merlin, Gwen, Uther, Leon, Lancelot, Gaius, Gwaine, Percival... the list continued for several pages, with several lines of notes after each of the names. Towards the middle, he found the name Morgause, paired with Cenred and a few other names he didn't recognize. But there was enough for him to assume that this was a record of the original Morgana. This was more or less confirmed when the last note on the last page was 'died 1114', the year it was believed Merlin killed Morgana to protect King Arthur. It was also the year King Arthur died.

A deep sense of foreboding settled on him as he stared at the page. It was like the nightmares where he was standing over his own grave, not really comprehending what it was until he read the name on the stone several times, and still he didn't understand what had happened. He shivered.

"Arthur?" Merlin's voice managed to drag him forcefully back to reality. "Are you alright?"

He straightened, closing the notebook and tucking it under his arm. There seemed to be more to it, sketches and notes that he hadn't paid as much attention to while focusing on the names. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." Merlin's eyes dropped to look accusingly at the book. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"Actually," Arthur brought it back out, staring at the cover, "I think this might have part of the answer in it. What did you say that crystal was called again?"

"Galdre's Gemod?" He frowned. "You said it meant 'the magician's heart'?"

"Right, yes. I think Cedric was saying something about it to the smugglers. Something about past lives, I think, and remembering a world they can't remember." He looked at the crystal sitting innocently in the plush box. "If I'm right, this wasn't caused by a curse, not exactly. It was an effect of some sort, and her mind isn't taking to it well." He glanced down at the book. "It's trying to remember too much. We need to get this to Gaius, both of these things, and see if that's right."

Merlin nodded, making his way to the door, still carefully avoiding contact with the crystal. "Then let's go. The sooner we get there, the faster he can find a solution."


	11. Chapter 11

The infirmary was a storm of activity when Merlin and Arthur returned. Gaius had obviously pulled in a few of his normal assistants to help, and three of them were standing around the bed, murmuring spells under their breath.

"What's going on?" Arthur asked, moving to stand near Gaius' desk. "Has she gotten worse?"

Gaius sighed. "Physically, she isn't much worse than when you left. That being said, she's not in a particularly stable place, and she is fighting against me every step of the way." He glanced between the two of them. "Please tell me you found something."

Merlin came forward and set the box with the crystal on the desk. "We found this locked in her office. Arthur thought it might have something to do with it."

"What is it?" Gaius sat down and reached into his desk, pulling out a pair of gloves that was more durable than the pair Arthur usually used. Of course, since he was their main physician, he couldn't take any chances when it came to curses because there was no telling if his assistants would be able to diagnose the problem and deal with it without his expertise. "This is—" Gaius's eyes widened as he turned the crystal over in his hand. "This is not a natural structure. This was created by a mage, a powerful one at that."

"It's called the Galdre's Gemod." Arthur cut in. "That smuggling warehouse I stumbled into a few months ago, this was picked up in all that. The one who brought it mentioned it was supposed to bring back memories of past lives or something like that."

Merlin shucked his gloves and shoved them into the pocket of his jacket. "And Gwaine thought it might have been created by the original Merlin. Morgana had him studying it for a while. He probably knows the most about it that we can find. I somehow doubt a member of the Black Hand is going to show up and explain it to us."

"Then we should find him. In fact, he needs to be examined as well. Morgana is not usually careless with artifacts like this and, if he was working with it, it's possible he's been exposed to it as well." Gaius waved over one of his assistants who was standing idle and sent them off towards the office of Records and Research. "Do you have anything else for me?"

Arthur held out the notebook. "She had this in her desk. I can't tell much more than the list of names and the dates, but I think she was trying to keep track of what she was remembering. Maybe at some point it was just becoming too much. I don't know why she would try to do this on her own. She knows that this sort of experimentation requires others to maintain standards of health and safety. She's normally the one who would insist on it." He sighed. "But I do think the first incident might have been my fault. I surprised her when she was in the lab, and she knocked a few things over, then set them right without putting on any gloves or anything."

Gaius took the journal and started flipping through it, frowning at certain pages in concentration. "You may be right about this." One eyebrow raised as he turned to the last of the pages of names, probably seeing his own on it. "I will need to examine this further, but I do think this is where I will find most of the answers I'm looking for." He looked back over at the bed where Morgana was being kept in a magical slumber. "I shudder to think what effect this is going to have on her in the long term."

Leon walked into the room then, looking around until his eyes fell on Morgana. His shoulders slumped, but he crossed the room in a few quick strides, taking a seat beside the bed. He didn't even seem to notice anyone else as he grabbed her hand, stroking it gently.

"I fear what this will mean for them as well," Gaius murmured quietly. "If, as we assume, her mind is the most affected, she may not be the same woman when she wakes up as she was when she awoke this morning."

Arthur tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He didn't want to lose his cousin, but he couldn't help but think that the situation would be so much worse for Leon. He'd caught a rumor last week that Leon had been seen looking at rings, but nothing had come of that yet. Even with all of the trouble they had been noting, the changes in Morgana over the past few weeks, Leon still loved her and still wanted to marry her. But it had to be hell sitting there wondering if she was ever going to wake up.

"We should go let the Council know what's going on," Arthur said, desperate to get as far away from the infirmary as possible right now. He couldn't think of anything worse than sitting there and wondering if all the effort they were going through was inevitably going to be useless.

"I will probably need to give a report in a little while as well." Gaius set the notebook down and stood up. "After I examine Gwaine and determine who else might have been exposed to that. With any luck, his knowledge of the crystal should help determine how it has affected Morgana and how we can reverse the damage it's done."

"I suppose we'll see you down there in a little while then."

* * *

Arthur decided to amend his opinion of sitting uselessly off to the side in the infirmary. It wasn't nearly as bad as sitting uselessly somewhere other than the infirmary, wondering what was going on, but unable to find out without going back and getting in the way.

The Council of Magic was uncommonly quiet for a legislative body. It was quiet compared to the arguments thrown back and forth before Morgana had collapsed. Everyone was still there, but they were waiting in silence for Gaius to arrive with news. Arthur couldn't think of a time he and his father had been in the same room without arguing after a while, but they hadn't said a word to each other beyond his response regarding Morgana's current state of health and the theories regarding her sudden and unexpected deterioration.

Greer was the calmest and most collected of those present, and he drew Merlin away with a small mouse that appeared on his shoulder. Apparently, the man had a small family of them in one of his pockets, which he carefully guarded against any jostling. The adventurous little mouse was currently wandering around the table. It was instinctively giving Uther a wide berth as though it knew how to interpret the look of utter disgust he was leveling at it, as well as Merlin and Greer.

For his part, Arthur had given up sitting in favor of pacing back and forth. No one had yet said anything about it, and he had no intention of changing his behavior until someone did or something changed.

Aithusa and their children had hardly moved despite the room expanding to accommodate them. Aithusa looked incredibly sad, as though they had some stake in all this. He paused, the words of Sotrios and Efthymia returning to him, talk of stories about Morgana.

"Did you know her?" Arthur asked into the silence, turning to face the dragons. "Morgana?"

"I did," Aithusa replied. "Not the Morgana you know, but the one she was before. The Morgana who was both ambitious and misguided, unaware of her failings and ignorant of her destiny." They sighed. "You must understand that she and I were both young, and I was more trusting than I should have been."

"She was angry," Efthymia whispered. "In the stories, she was very angry."

Aithusa nuzzled Efthymia gently. "Yes, she was angry. She had some right to be, but she held onto that anger for far too long and it began to drive her mad." Again, they sighed. "In the end, I'm not sure she understood why she was fighting."

"Why was she angry?" Merlin asked, a strangely pensive look on his face.

"There were many reasons. Chief among them, however, was that she had the life she had chosen for herself torn from her violently because of the will of an old man she later learned was her true father. She hated him for that, for keeping the knowledge of her true heritage from her, for the violence he leveled again others who had magic, while denying she possessed magic herself. He was drowning in his own hypocrisy, and she hated fearing for her life and that others feared for their lives from her father." Aithusa's gaze grew distant. "She wanted to save magic users of the time, open Camelot up to the practices of Druidry and sorcery again, but she attempted to do so at the detriment of those who opposed her. In some ways, she was very much like her father, but she didn't want to admit it. Still, her destiny ran counter to what she desired. When she stood against Emrys, she was doomed to fail."

Arthur tried to imagine this image of Morgana. She was vilified by the stories of King Arthur and Camelot, made out to be a snake waiting for the moment to strike, but Aithusa, who had known her, painted a very different picture. He could almost see this version of Morgana, intelligent but forever pushed down and forced to deny who and what she was. Still, she fought for what she wanted and needed, but the constant fighting turned her bitter.

"It was the years spent in the pit that drove her to that end, I think," Aithusa continued. "She didn't hate anyone with the full depth of her soul until she was trapped in the pit with me for two years."

Merlin gasped, and Arthur felt his blood run cold as he made his way to his chair. This wasn't a story he wanted to listen to on his feet anymore. He wasn't sure what the pit was, but it couldn't have been a good place, not if she was trapped there. And if that was what caused Morgana to hate someone so much, it was no accident that she had become trapped there. The level of cruelty it spoke of was horrifying.

"Why would anyone do that?" he demanded. "Why would someone trap her like that, even if she was trying to impose her will on others?" There was suddenly a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "It wasn't King Arthur who did it, was it?"

Aithusa blinked and looked down at him. "No. Arthur could not have done that to her, no matter the provocation. Even to the end, he loved her as family should love one another. The one responsible was killed by his own assassin while attempting to murder Arthur." A hard look appeared on their face. "I am sure he found his punishment on the other side of the veil."

Arthur leaned back in his seat, relieved that his namesake was not the cause of her suffering. If the original Morgana was anything like the woman he grew up with, she certainly didn't deserve to be imprisoned in a dark pit for disagreeing with the way the country was run.

Gaius stepped into the chamber, bowing to the inhabitants. "I beg the Council's indulgence for a time that I might inform them of Morgana's condition."

"How is she, Gaius?" Uther demanded, speaking for the first time since Arthur and Merlin had returned.

"Not well, I'm afraid, but I do know the cause and a possible treatment for it."

"You have not applied it?" Greer asked, tilting his head to one side. The mouse had returned to him and was climbing back up his sleeve to his shoulder.

"I lack the power for it."

"What is the treatment?" Arthur asked. If it was a matter of power, it was possible he could do it without too much trouble. Gaius was clear and direct in his instructions, so there was little fear of something going wrong in the attempt.

"Perhaps it would be best if I explain the exact issue first." Gaius moved toward the table and sat in the chair that rose up from the floor. "The problem, as I have been able to understand it, is that the magic from the Galdre's Gemod crystal has built up in her system and is currently attempting to alter her mind. From the notebook Arthur found, it is clear that Morgana had connected with seven specific time periods in which she lived in one form or another. She was able to identify the year she was born, certain people she met with during that life, and the year in which she died. However, each of these lives has its own personality, unique to its period and the circumstances of her upbringing. The magic from the crystal is trying to force her mind to conform to these patterns, but she cannot cope with the disparate personalities acting in contention with her own well-established personality."

"So, it's trying to make her be eight people at once, and her brain can't handle that?" Arthur asked by way of clarification.

"Exactly. Now, what needs to be done is for someone to remove the magic from her mind. I don't have the power or the ability to remove it myself, and there is a chance that the magic will latch onto them instead, attempting to do the same thing."

Arthur winced. 'There is a chance' was basically code for 'I'm fairly certain this is exactly what will happen, but I don't have any proof'. If it could be removed like that, there was then the problem of the person who absorbed that magic and how it would affect them. "Is there any possibility that the magic might be diluted once removed from her?"

"I don't know."

Aithusa shifted. "The Galdre's Gemod crystal, you said?"

"Yes." To his credit, Gaius didn't appear outwardly to be afraid of the dragons. The only evidence that he was clearly terrified lay in the absolute stillness with which he sat in the chair. Other than speaking, Gaius hadn't so much as twitched a finger while sitting there.

"There can be only one person to do it then," Princess Brígh cut in. "It must be Emrys."

Arthur frowned. That was one of the names she had used before, referring to the position of High Warlock. "You mean Merlin?"

"Me?" Merlin squeaked. "Why does it have to be me?"

"Because you are Emrys," she replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps to her, it was.

"I don't doubt Merlin's skill with magic, and I know he's powerful, but why does it have to be him?" Arthur asked.

Merlin rubbed absently at the little mouse, which had moved again from Greer's shoulder to rest in his cupped hands. "What does that have to do with being Emrys?"

Brígh offered him a pitying look. "Everything. The Emrys is not a name given lightly or without cause. There is only one Emrys and there will only ever be one Emrys, the one Magic favors."

"But what does that have to do with anything? Is it just because of how much magic I have?"

Aithusa chuckled. "Being Emrys does not merely mean that you are a powerful mage. It means that Magic itself bows to your will."

"Is that why he was able to learn so quickly? The level of spell work he exhibited when I was first teaching him was far beyond what anyone would expect from someone who only just learned of the community." It was a far better idea than someone erasing the memory of learning magic from Merlin's mind. As much as it made sense, it left behind more questions, the implications of which were sinister.

Across the room, Uther scoffed and crossed his arms. "You talk about magic as if it has some sentience. Magic is magic; it's merely a tool some measure of the population has control of."

"Magic is a tool, yes," Princess Brígh told him, looking in askance at him from the corner of her eye. "But there is an intelligence to it. You cannot tell a hammer to pound a nail, nor can you command a knife to cut while expending no energy on your own. But magic can be called upon to perform a near infinite variety of tasks, and the will of the magic user is the only effort applied to it. However," she continued, "this relates to the magic such people have within themselves and how they use it. There is a difference in between the magic one is born with and the existing force of nature we are speaking of. Magic as a force of nature is intelligent and it demonstratively chooses favorites. Merlin Emrys, who even the mundanes recognize by name, was one such favored." She nodded to Merlin, who blinked confusedly.

Arthur couldn't blame him. Merlin, the current Merlin, had no history in the magical community that they had been able to find, but she had acknowledged him in conjunction with the original Merlin as though there was some familial connection between them. Which would have explained a lot more. Perhaps the Sidhe had better ways of tracking magical bloodlines, ways that they had not shared with the mortal magical community.

"Such favor often goes hand in hand with destiny," she finished. And at this, she turned her gaze to Arthur.

There was a weight to the words he knew she wasn't saying, something heavy and unbearable, and he wasn't sure how he could handle it as it settled on his shoulders. He wasn't even sure what it was, only that it must have had something to do with the title of High King they had given him. With the exception of Greer perhaps, there was a distinct lack of knowledge among the shorter-lived members of the Council, all the talk of destiny and the connections to the world of the original Merlin's day were leading to something that they must have been waiting for.

"Okay," Merlin said, sitting up straight, a glint of determination in his eyes. "How can I help Morgana?"

Princess Brígh smiled. "Now that is the right question."

She came around the table and knelt beside him, to the consternation of her attendants, who brought themselves out of the background to buzz around nervously. None of them dared to say anything about it though, and Arthur got the feeling she often took actions they didn't expect. Merlin glanced at Princess Brígh, then the attendants, then back at the princess.

"Come, stand up," she told him, holding out her hand. Merlin accepted it and allowed himself to be pulled away from the table. "As I said, magic is about will. You must want something to happen for it to work. If it does not work, you did not want it to work. Doubt is something you must leave behind when you work magic because it will prevent you from trusting in the outcome you want." She led him to an empty portion of the chamber. "Now, I want you to change this room."

"But—"

"No." She held up a hand, almost touching his face, still holding his wrist with her other hand. "No doubting. All doubts were let sitting in your chair. You have access to all the magic you could ever need. Ask it to do something and it will." She leaned closer to him until their noses were almost touching, dropping her grip on his wrist. "Now, ask."

Merlin frowned, but he turned to look at the room. There was still a measure of uncertainty in his posture, but he turned in a slow circle before closing his eyes. As Arthur watched, Merlin's hands drifted up like he was trying to feel out the space.

Slowly, a spark of something appeared and started growing between his outstretched hands. Merlin then opened his eyes and the spark expanded to an orb, spinning and throwing off light like a miniature blue sun. A shape was emerging from the light, but Arthur tore his gaze away from it to look at Merlin's face. There was something old there, old and familiar and just out of reach. The irises of Merlin's eyes were gold and burning, his expression more intense and focused than he'd been in any of their training sessions, and yet Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that he knew this side of Merlin in a way that spoke of years of constant contact rather than a few months of something more casual. He craved that contact, wanted it more deeply than anything he'd ever felt before, wanted it more than he had ever wanted to be part of the MIB.

His focus was so intent upon Merlin that he almost missed the way the air was thrumming with magic, how similar it was to their first encounter, how again it was difficult to even breath with the weight of it surrounding them. The cluster of magic Merlin was weaving was now larger than his arms had the ability to span and still it was building and adding more. His arms had drifted down so his hands were under it, holding it up as it gathered and compounded upon itself. Then, when it looked like Merlin wouldn't be able to hold it any more, it drifted up and away, moving slowly to the center of the room. Light rippled across every surface and the room changed beneath it.

The floor beneath them filled with color rather like a time-lapse of grass growing in an empty plot of land. Instead of green, it was a pale blue that actually grounded the all-white space. When the light reached the walls, wood bled up towards the ceiling in wide panels separated by wood pillars finished in a varnish so dark they were almost black. A light fixture was centered in every other panel, molded in pale amber globes that spread warm summer light across the floor. Gold filigree danced up the edges of the paneling before slowing transitioning to jade as it began spreading across the domed ceiling in thin vine patterns. The top of the dome lay open to the sky, a clear jewel-like window completing the structure there. The orb of magic had reached its place over the Council table, which had arisen from the center of the room. Slowly, it became sharper, the edges more defined and the carvings around the circumference of it filled in with silver. The table itself turned from white marble to glossy black stone, which accentuated the newly filled carvings. The chairs around it were the same dark varnished wood as the pillars along the edge of the room. A large archway guarded by tall marble pillars marked the entrance of the room. There was no trace of the plain room that existed before, 

Arthur looked back at Merlin, who was watching as more globes of light grew down from the ceiling to provide the same amber light to the table, suspended by metal cords twisted together like branches. The expression on his face was equal parts awe and satisfaction. Finally, when the orb of light had melted into their surroundings, leaving behind all of the changes it had made, Merlin sighed.

"Alright," he said, striding for the door. "Let's see what we can do about this."

If there had ever been a doubt in Arthur's mind whether or not he liked Merlin, it was gone now. In its place was desire, hot and heavy. He started walking, uncomfortable as it was at that moment, so no one would notice the distinct bulge in his trousers. That was not a conversation he wanted to have right now, especially not with his father in the room.

He was not, however, going to miss out on the opportunity to ogle Merlin all the way to the infirmary. It was a terrific view.

Merlin's steps faltered ever so slightly as he entered the infirmary, but Arthur was fairly certain he was the only one who noticed. Leon was still sitting beside Morgana's bed, stroking her hand lightly. His presence must have helped somewhat, as Gaius's assistants had backed off, no longer chanting sleeping spells over her with every breath to keep her under.

The rest of the Council had followed them, and Arthur wasn't as surprised as he thought he should be that the dragons could take on a different form. They still had draconic qualities—spiky ridges where eyebrows would be on a human, thick scaled lips hiding too sharp teeth, sharp claws at the ends of their fingers—but they looked mostly human.

In this form, Aithusa was just as androgynous as they were in their natural form. Their long thick hair had a delicate wave to it where it sat on their shoulder. Their outfit was reminiscent of a monk's habit, with thick baggy fabric hanging off them, tied at the waist with a thin length of cord. Efthymia and Sotrios were dressed in similar attire, but Efthymia had a thin frame and a narrow face with soft features while Sotrios was solidly built, with very angular features. All three had eyes as pale as the summer sky, though both Efthymia and Sotrios had darker hair and complexions compared to Aithusa.

Uther was the last one to enter the infirmary, and Arthur didn't miss the way he paled at the sight of Morgana on the bed. Uther had doted on her when they were younger, and he always seemed proud of her in a way he never was of Arthur. There were several rumors circulating at one point that Morgana was his illegitimate daughter, but a simple inheritance test proved that wasn't the case. Still, it was strange that he paid such attention to her while belittling most of the decisions Arthur had made for himself. He didn't think his father meant to show such blatant favoritism, more that Morgana held similar ambitions to what his father wanted for him, and Uther thought acknowledging that approval in another would cause Arthur to fall in line with his father's dream for the future. 

Merlin turned to Princess Brígh. "Where do I even start with this? I don't know exactly how the magic is currently affecting her."

The Sidhe princess chuckled, a dry, hollow sound, like wooden wind chimes rattling in the distance. "Then ask."

Merlin opened his mouth as if to retort, before closing it, shrugging, and moving to the head of Morgana's bed. He nodded in acknowledgement at Leon, then placed his hands on either side of Morgana's head without touching her and closed his eyes.

The air grew heavy with magic once again as it always did when Merlin was casting without a focused spell. Slowly, the sensation tapered off, condensing in the space around Merlin and Morgana. One of Merlin's hands drifted away while the other moved from its place at her temple to hover over her face. Then, once the magical potential of the room had narrowed to a pinprick, tiny tendrils of purple-blue energy began bleeding out of Morgana to hover in space beneath Merlin's hand.

He drew his hand up, pulling more of the energy with it until the orb that formed under his hand was about the size of a walnut. Once all the energy seemed to have been drained from her, Morgana's brow relaxed, and she appeared to melt into the bed as the tension left her body.

Merlin's hand slipped beneath the orb as if to cup it and the energy started leeching into him, traveling up his arm to his neck just beneath the skin. When he opened his eyes, there was a twist of that same purple-blue in the irises. For a moment, he didn't seem to comprehend where he was until his frantic gaze found and settled on Arthur.

He stumbled forward a step, then another. "Arthur, you're alive," he whispered, before pitching forward into Arthur's arms.


	12. Chapter 12

Oddly, Arthur wasn't as worried as he thought he should be. It was as if some sort of barrier had dropped between him and his emotions at that moment, and he could actually think clearly for the time being. There would be things to unpack, like why Merlin was so grateful for his continued existence in spite of the fact that he hadn't done anything particularly dangerous lately, but that was a problem for later, after they determined what he had done to himself.

A little bit of annoyance slipped past the barrier because Merlin had done this to himself. However he had managed to cure Morgana, he had then consciously—until they heard otherwise—taken the energy that had been contaminating her into himself. If he wasn't currently unconscious, Arthur would be yelling at him for recklessness and not bothering to let people know what he was doing before he did it.

He set Merlin down on the closest unoccupied bed and stepped back as Gaius came forward.

"Well, that's good, I suppose," Gaius muttered, scanning and cataloging Merlin's vitals.

"What's good?"

"He's not bleeding for one."

"He's not awake though." Okay, so perhaps his emotions weren't perfectly secured behind that barrier. He couldn't be the only one angry with Merlin at that moment.

Arthur glanced back at the members of the Council. None of them looked particularly concerned about events as they unfolded, least of all Princess Brígh and Aithusa. Greer had the decency to frown, but even then he didn't appear to be worried. Uther, however, was watching Arthur.

While he had spent most of his life learning to stand up against his father's disapproving expressions, he was now faced with something that caught him completely off guard. His father was... Well, proud wasn't the word. He was... attentive. The expression on his face was almost knowing.

Arthur managed to disguise his moan as a yawn that became real half-way through. With his father, now everyone in his life was aware of how far he was gone on Merlin. Uther wouldn't stand in the way of anything, should anything happen, lest his wife visit upon him the meaning of suffering.

"Perhaps you should go home, Arthur," Gaius said, patting him on the arm. "It's getting late, and the day began early besides."

"What about them?" He amended the pronoun before it left his mouth, but the split second of delay was enough for the corners of Gaius's mouth to twitch. Arthur was so very, very gone on him that apparently his concern for those not called Merlin had long since atrophied.

"They'll be fine. I had intended to keep Merlin behind for observation anyway. The circumstances are less ideal than they would have been had he come out unscathed, but he is strong, and I'm sure he wouldn't want you to spend the night here when you didn't have to."

It was a low blow, lower than Arthur would have believed Gaius capable of, except that he had just employed it. "Fine," he huffed. "I'll go home then." He turned and stalked out.

As soon as he left the infirmary, Arthur realized that perhaps storming out didn't leave people he was meant to work with in future with the best impression of him. He wasn't about to go back though, as the day had been just as hectic as Gaius had suggested. Still, he wasn't about to leave the MIB entirely just yet. His adrenaline was much too high to find any comfort in his flat should he leave immediately, and he had no desire to spend the evening plagued by nightmares.

He ended up in the canteen, sitting at one of the tables and stirring a cup of tea idly as it lost its heat.

"So," someone said, standing just off to his right. He glanced up to see Gwaine slipping into the chair across from him. "Fancy adding a bit of a kick to that?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at the cooling tea.

"Why? Do you have something?"

Gwaine's face split with one of the widest grins Arthur had ever seen. It was a mixture of rakish amusement and Cheshire cat, with a dash of mad hooligan added for flavor. "Do I have something, the man asks! I have a different variety of poison for every hour of the day and then some."

Arthur frowned, leaning back in his chair to look Gwaine over carefully. "Not actual poison, I hope? Given where you work and what you do, I think it's a pertinent question."

If possible, the grin grew wider, more manic. "The only chemicals I work with are the edible variety. Makes the clean-up that much less life threatening."

After a moment's consideration, Arthur leaned forward, sighing. "I don't suppose you have this miniature pub on you right this minute. That would make things convenient if nothing else."

Gwaine shrugged. "No. The samples I had have mysteriously vanished—"

"A common occurrence, I'm sure."

"...but my cellar is well stocked."

It was a challenge. Arthur didn't reach the place he was by backing down when he encountered a fight, and those who decided to challenge him tended to realize why those tried before never tried it again. While he knew that this whole affair was stepping into Gwaine's territory, the one member of the MIB known for his near nightly enjoyment of the pub, Arthur still couldn't find it in himself to back down.

"Then I think I'll have to see this cellar."

* * *

Gwaine led him through the bowels of the building, to places and passageways he'd never really noticed before. There were records of it somewhere, most likely, but he had never had occasion to explore them for himself.

"Is there a way into the building through these?" he asked, as they squeezed through a dark, narrow passage and into an alcove with four branches linking off in different directions.

"You can get out, but not in. You have to wait for the guards to let someone else through if you're trying to be sneaky. Between that and the locking mechanisms being hardened against magic, there's no way in without getting spotted in one way or another."

"There's some good news at least." Arthur's thoughts kept returning to Merlin, how small he had looked on the bed earlier that day, how Merlin had looked at him like he was the most important thing in the world right before he collapsed for a second time, the energy of the crystal still humming in his veins. The expression of hope and shock and fear and need written across Merlin's face in that moment was almost too much for him to understand.

The end of the journey brought them to a corner of the MIB Arthur hadn't even known existed. It was a dark little nook with a small bar, guarding a vast collection of alcohol.

"Come here often, do you?"

Gwaine shrugged as he moved around the bar. "Not really. Only when someone needs it. You weren't going to relax if you went home, and upsetting you wouldn't do anything for Merlin. He's the only reason you're here, by the way." He set two glasses on the bar before nodding to a stool on Arthur's side of it. "Take a seat."

He did, letting his eyes drift over the selection on the shelves.

"I can do a mix, too, if you're looking for that."

"No," Arthur said, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on the counter top. "I think I'll just have some of the vodka there." He pointed at a blue bottle. It wasn't quite clear if it was the glass or the liquid that was blue, but he didn't particularly care right then. It would have a bit of a burn to it, and that was what he needed.

Gwaine grabbed the bottle and set it down on the bar beside the glasses. His hand disappeared from view under the edge of the counter, before reappearing with a bowl of peanuts, a package of crackers, and a small sandwich. "I don't know when you last ate, but it would remiss of me to offer alcohol without something else to put in your stomach."

Twisting the top off the bottle, he poured one glass and slid it towards Arthur before adding some to the second glass and closing the bottle again.

"Perks of this sort of practice?"

Gwaine scoffed. "What makes you think I'm the sort of person to let another man drink alone, especially when he's upset?"

"Right, of course," Arthur said dryly. "Because it's such a sacrifice for you. I've heard about your normal routine in the evenings."

"So? I could be there. Maybe I should be there, but you needed someone on your side right now, and Merlin's currently out of commission. I wasn't about to let you suffer that on your own no matter how annoying you can be sometimes."

Arthur registered the slight stab of guilt in his gut. Gwaine had never bothered to say he was anything other than what he was, but apparently Arthur was the only one who had a problem with that. He wasn't entirely sure why Gwaine's habits were so grating to his senses, but they were.

He sipped at his blue drink, distantly registering the fruity flavor of it. Maybe it had something to do with what they accomplished with their lives. Gwaine didn't want the same things he did, even though they had come from a similar place. Arthur knew he had the skills to be in the Department of Misapplied Magics, as he often assisted out in the field with caches they came across in their work.

"Why didn't you decide to apply to my department?" he asked. Wondering about the questions in his head would generate no answers.

Gwaine sighed and set his glass down, contemplating the bottle with the look of a man who wanted to start chugging it. Instead, he merely picked it up and topped off his glass. "You really want to know?" At Arthur's nod, he sighed again. "Because you were already there. The great Arthur Drake was part of the office of Misapplied Magics, wasn't it wonderful?" He gazed miserably into his glass. "You think your father wants a lot of you? Mine has been trying to manage my life since my mother conceived. There was a reason she left him, and it had everything to do with how controlling he was. I hated him; still do, sometimes, but he always had one thing he held over me, and that was you."

"Me?"

"Don't try and pretend you don't know the effect you have on people. They trust you, they like you. Sort of like how everyone who knows him comes to like Merlin, but people didn't even have to know you to think you were great. Because Arthur Drake was the strongest mage to come out of the Sangster line in 600 years." Gwaine tossed back the contents of his glass and refilled it. "You were exactly the sort of person my father wanted me to be, and you were exactly the sort of person I wanted to be too. You knew what you wanted to do practically since birth, and you worked toward it in everything you did. So I tried to do everything you did."

Arthur winced. He wouldn't have wished his workload on anyone, and he had chosen it for himself, pushing harder and harder against his limits until he managed to push past them. It was, at best, an exercise in persistence, but it wasn't a model he ever intended for anyone to follow.

"Now you know the problem," Gwaine acknowledged, raising his glass to Arthur. "You work like a fucking demon is chasing you and you never stop. By the time my father deigned to notice my progress, I was rapidly burning myself out. But now he was watching me, I thought, now he knows I can be as good as he wants me to be. So, I pushed even harder, trying to catch up to your image. The day I failed, he came to me the way he always did, telling me that I should have done better, holding over me the fact that you had already accomplished what I was trying to do, only you'd done it two years earlier." He set his glass aside and leaned onto the counter. "I don't know what it was exactly that did it, bringing you up again as the perfect example of what I should be for him or if it was something to do with how finished I was with everything at that moment, I just dropped everything and walked out of the room. Then out of the house, and I kept walking until I got to Percy's place. His mum put me up for a few days while I made arrangements to go to my uncle's place, but I wasn't about to step back into my father's house right then."

Arthur blinked. "I didn't know—"

"Well, I didn't tell you before, did I?" Gwaine replied hotly, before closing his eyes and taking in a slow four-count breath. "Look, I'm not trying to start a fight about whose dad was worse, but you didn't know where I came from and you decided you didn't like me because I chose to do something different with my life." He rinsed out his glass as a small tap built into the bar. "You don't have to tell me any of that. My own mind has been saying it for years. Just have a care what you say and who you say it to."

"I'm—"

"Sorry? Its fine, princess. Like I said, I've been dealing with it. And for the days that are too much to deal with, I have Percy." After wiping the glass and setting it down out of sight, he leaned on the bar again, ignoring the way Arthur frowned at the nickname Gwaine had given him. "To answer your question, though, I am where I am because I chose to be there. Am I capable of being part of your department? Probably. Do I want to be there? Not right now. I get my fill of what goes on up there from Percy, but I have discovered that I'm rather good at figuring out magic and what it does when it's applied in certain ways." He smiled. "There's a reason I was the one with first eyes on the crystal that caused this whole mess. A crystal which, if I'm right, was only ever meant to be used by Merlin, and that's why we're in this mess."

Arthur frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"You wanna talk shop now? I suppose we can do that, but I'm not standing up for all that. I know how far I can go when I get started on something."

Gwaine came around the bar and sat down on one of the stools near the half-empty bottle of fruity vodka. He refilled Arthur's glass, which he had been nursing while Gwaine talked. It wasn't until Arthur jammed his fingers in the bottom of the peanut bowl that he realized he'd been eating them.

"Now, do you know anything about the concept of sympathetic resonance?" Gwaine asked. "Because that would help move this conversation along."

"It sounds familiar."

"For clarity's sake, I better explain it then. Sympathetic resonance, as you can probably tell from the name, has to do with sound, especially that the sound vibrations from one source can affect another potential source of sound, causing it to resonate in harmony with the original source. They usually demonstrate this sort of thing with tuning forks mounted in a wooden box. If you hit one and stop it, you'll hear the other one ringing."

"Okay," Arthur nodded. "I don't see what that has to do with magic though."

"Well, it doesn't have as much to do with magic in general as with the magic in people. Everyone is basically a walking tuning fork when it comes to magic. We all have our own specific magical frequency, which is what you track and how you can tell if someone is magical or not. But no matter how powerful you are, you're just another tuning fork. Merlin was a loud speaker. Prevailing theory from druidic texts is that he didn't just have magic, he _was_ magic, like the Sidhe or unicorns or dragons. When he was active, he was like a beacon to those with magic, if they knew how to track that. We've picked it up more out of necessity and through trial and error over the centuries since, but that's not the point."

Gwaine shifted in his seat and Arthur suddenly realized the sort of crazy friend he had been missing out on shunning Gwaine's company for so long. He was the sort of person whose mind worked like a vast, interconnected cluster of wires, where he made and remade connections based on the things he discovered.

"The point is that if there is a significant amount of sympathetic resonance involved, bad things happen. Loud speakers can rattle glass from a distance, but it you put one up next to a pane of glass and blast that sound, there's a good chance it will shatter. And that's what I think has been going on with Miss Sangster."

"She couldn't handle the magic?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not all of it. That crystal, it was created and imbued with a specific purpose for a specific person: Merlin himself. I don't know what exactly it was supposed to do, but it affected the mind, bringing a specific type of memories back to the forefront. But the magic used wasn't hers, and she isn't sufficiently powerful enough to stop the vibration on her own. Considering you found the crystal in her office, I think she kept going back to it, re-examining it and restarting the vibration. If it had been just one moment of contact I doubt it would have been this bad."

Arthur paled. "What does this mean for Merlin though? He absorbed all that magic!"

Gwaine frowned. "How did he take it? What did he do?"

Arthur explained how Merlin had been using magic without spells, by just asking the magic to do what he wanted it to do, and how the energy, once extracted, melted into his body shortly before he collapsed.

"I'm not a doctor or a healer of any sort," Gwaine began, "so I'm going to trust that Gaius knew what he was talking about. Off-hand, just from what you described, I do agree that he should be fine. Merlin is definitely more powerful than Miss Sangster, and it sounds like he took to it well." He shrugged. "He is going to remember something of what the crystal was trying to bring back, but without talking to him, I wouldn't know what."

"You're not worried?"

"Of course I'm worried," Gwaine protested. "I'm not a sociopath. But I think that if anyone would be able to come out of this without changing too much, it would be Merlin. I just—" Gwaine paused, staring down at the counter as if it could tell him what he was trying to say. "I feel like I can trust him. Explicitly, without holding anything back," he finally said. "I feel like Merlin would protect those he believed in to his dying breath, and would willing die if it meant saving others."

"Not on my watch," Arthur growled, the hand not currently filled with a glass clenching into a fist.

Gwaine laughed. "Yes, what an angry little princess you are, Drake. Having to watch you pine over him for the last several weeks has been sickening."

A triple beep interrupted Arthur before he could protest the insulting name again, and Gwaine pulled out his phone. Curious, Arthur pulled his own phone out of his pocket and winced as he caught sight of the time. 1:44 AM. He hadn't bothered to look at a clock since before the dragons landed in London, but clearly the waiting and searching and talking had taken up more of the day than he had believed.

"That was Percy wondering where I am," Gwaine told him. "He usually sends me something if I'm not back by now to check if I'll be back to the flat soon." He waved his phone idly. "So now you know my beer alarm. His texts always mean it's time to go home. You should probably go too."

Gwaine stood, making for the entrance of the alcohol nook, but he turned back. "I'd have to ask Percy, but if you don't want to go back to your place, you could probably crash on the couch at mine."

"I think I would prefer my own bed, but thank you."

"Suit yourself. But you should probably follow me so you don't get lost down here."

* * *

Back at his flat, laying in bed, Arthur distantly wished he had taken up Gwaine's offer of hospitality. He had always been the one stuck in the infirmary before, waiting for his injuries to heal, and he had no idea it was this terrible being on the other side of it. He had half a mind to ring Gareth and apologize for all the moments he put himself in harm's way and ended up in Gaius's care for a week at a time. If it felt anything like this, working with him must have been hell.

He couldn't bring himself to sit up though. He didn't have anything to do, and he was tired, exhaustion causing his arms and legs to tingle and feel leaden at the same time. His mind was still whirring away, and it kept conjuring images and scenes of entering the infirmary tomorrow to Gaius's sad face and quiet voice, to seeing a body with a sheet pulled over it. Nothing was supposed to go wrong—Arthur was almost certain he could trust Gwaine's idea of what was going on with the magic from the crystal given how long he'd been studying it—but the possibility of something bad happening in the night hadn't been entirely ruled out.

 _I have to tell him_ , he thought. _I have to tell him that I love him._

The idea of saying it aloud was terrifying because that would make it real. It would force Merlin to acknowledge it in some way, and it would not exist in some limbo where no one could have hurt feelings. There could only be acceptance or rejection.

The sick feeling of anticipation and anxiety twisted in Arthur's gut. He didn't want to say anything. As difficult as it was to be around Merlin all day without betraying anything, it would be infinitely harder if Merlin rejected him because they would have an awkwardness between them, a stumbling block he didn't think they'd ever be able to get rid of.

At the same time, he wanted Merlin to know how much he cared about his safety and well-being. He wanted to be able to make sure that Merlin was always safe whatever they happened to be doing.

His thoughts drifted to the Council meeting, what little they'd had before Morgana had collapsed. Pendragon and Emrys. The titles were familiar, but he still couldn't place them. It felt like knowing what they were was vital to understanding... something. Aithusa and Princess Brígh had been so sure that they were the only ones who could hold that position, that there was some sort of heritage that only the pair of them fulfilled.

He didn't know how it could be heritage though. Merlin had shown him the results from the office of Records and Research. There was no trace of a magical heritage, not within the last three hundred years. Records before that weren't as complete, but they hadn't needed to be before, as the magical community was mostly isolated families who kept in contact with other families. There hadn't been someone so disconnected from any sort of magical heritage that no connections could be found at all.

Arthur's own history, that of the Sangster family, went back further than those they had in Records. There was even a connection on the Drake side of the family to magic several generations back, though it seemed to have disappeared from the bloodline before he was born. The Sangster side of the family came out of the druids, those that survived the Great Purge, while magic appeared in the Drake side of the family around the time of Henry the Eighth. It had died out by the time of Queen Victoria and, knowing what he knew about the sentience and planning of Magic, he couldn't help but think that some opportunity had been lost in that. What little he knew of the Drake sorcerers was that one of them had died when the dragon attacked.

Arthur shot up, remember that Aithusa had specifically mentioned the event where a dragon burned several villages. The way they spoke about it could practically be heard as a confession that they were the one to do it. One of the things he had never understood about that event was why the dragon had done it.

 _"Grave was the mistake made that day, and gravely was it answered"_ Aithusa had said.  


"But what was the mistake?" Arthur muttered aloud. "Burning the villages? Or was that how they answered?"

The spike of adrenaline was already fading away, leaving him even more exhausted than before. He would have to ask tomorrow, and he wanted to be away enough to comprehend the answer he was given.

One last time, his thoughts turned to Merlin, to the way he chewed on the corner of his lip when he was concentrating, to the pale and earnest way he was staring at Arthur right before he collapsed. He had been weak, he must have been able to feel that he was barely on his feet, and yet his attention and his effort were stuck on Arthur.

It was something else he would have to ask about. Because Merlin would wake up. He would. And then Arthur would tell him that he loved him. No matter what else happened, he had to tell him.

He had to.


	13. Chapter 13

Arthur arrived at the MIB a full hour before he usually did. In spite of his best efforts, the five hours of sleep he'd managed to get were fitful at best, and he wasn't sure how much rest was achieved, and how much time was spent staring at his ceiling while he tried to go back to sleep.

In the end, he was awake before his alarm sounded, and he left his flat as soon as he grabbed something for breakfast.

It was the anticipation, he was sure of it, that made his journey to the office seem that much longer than usual. He used one of the side entrances to get in, not up for dealing with the interaction that came of using the main entrance. He wasn't sure if Simon would be in yet, but he wasn't about to take that chance. Any moment with others was time for him to second guess himself.

"Arthur," someone called, and he barely managed to suppress a groan.

Turning around, he saw Morgana walking toward him. "I see you're up," he observed lamely. "Are you alright?"

"As well as can be expected. Can I talk to you?"

He wanted to say no. She was giving him the option to say no, but she was also far more serious than Arthur had seen her since her mother had a stroke. Whatever she wanted to talk about, it was almost definitely important.

"What do you need?"

She looked a little more like herself when the ghost of a relieved smile appeared on her face though she was avoiding his eyes. Glancing around the hallway, she beckoned to him. "Let's not talk here. Somewhere else, I think, would be better."

Arthur nodded. "This is one of the halls that gets more traffic." He paused. "Something tells me you don't want many people to overhear what you have to say."

"No. No, I'd rather not have the gossip mill churning against me, if it's all the same to you." She led the way to one of the conference rooms on that level.

The room was like every other conference room in the building. It had a round table surrounded by chairs, a couple of dry-erase boards, and a monitor mounted in the wall on one side of the room for any electronic presentations. For a magical community, they often conducted themselves like a mundane business. Morgana sat down in one of the chairs and gestured for Arthur to sit down as well.

"First of all, I need to apologize for my conduct over the last several weeks," she began. "I know you probably don't know half the things I remember trying to do, but that doesn't mean it couldn't have hurt you."

"What did you do?" He had, of course, known about the glaring and the snipping at him and how she seemed to avoid him where possible, but that was the extent of what he'd seen.

She looked up at him for the first time since calling after him. "You have to understand, I wasn't completely myself. But I tried to engineer a reason to fire you."

"What?" He was finding it difficult to process that Morgana would have tried to get him fired because of this whole situation. "Why?"

Instead of answering immediately, she took out the notebook he'd found and set it on the table, staring down at it as if it contained all the answers. From what he'd seen, it just might. "Gaius said you were the one to find this. He thinks it might have been the reason the magic didn't completely destroy who I am. I was actively attempting to understand and integrate what I was learning. Every single period had a different person with different ideals. Always magical, but not always consciously aware of it. They were—I was—" She sighed. "It's a bit difficult to explain, but it was like I had seven other people in my mind, and all of them were trying to take over. I couldn't reason with them, because they were convinced that I was just another one of the voices."

Arthur waited patiently. She was trying to talk in fits and starts, and she didn't really seem like she wanted to do this right then. He didn't want to invalidate her effort by brushing her off, even though he burned to go and check on Merlin.

Slowly, Morgana turned over the pages until it was open to the last section. "She was the strongest of them, the one who had the most idea of what was going on. And she hated you. I didn't even understand why, but she did, and it was bleeding over into each and every encounter we had. After a while, I wasn't sure if I was upset with you, or if that was all her, and I think part of that was the point. It was blurring the lines between us until I couldn't be sure which parts were me and which came from the others." She shivered. "I still don't."

"You're Morgana Sangster, no matter what else happens. You're my cousin and I will stand by you no matter what you do because you deserve to have someone on your side, even if you don't think so. Now, you just have a peculiar insight into living in other times, and how what happens can affect you." Arthur leaned forward. "You know, Aithusa talked about the original Morgana. They knew her well. It was one of the darkest moments of her life, but I got the impression that they tried to support one another. Maybe you could talk to them about her, to try and understand a little more about her. Maybe that can help put a little bit of distance between her personality and your own."

"I'll think about it. I don't think I'm ready to talk about this with many people, but I thought you should know since you and Merlin were targeted by some of what I tried to do."

Arthur sat up straighter. "Merlin? What did you do to Merlin?"

Morgana folded in on herself more. "If it had worked the way it was planned, Merlin would have been killed. As much as she hated you, she wanted to make Merlin suffer more. You can't know how much you look like him, King Arthur. You could be twins. And Merlin looks just like the original Merlin. He was—" She looked up again, a haunted look in her eyes. "Merlin was the last thing she saw before she died. He killed her."

It was difficult to imagine that someone as kind and friendly as Merlin, the one he knew, could be capable of murder. He certainly didn't look like the type to kill anyone, at least not to Arthur. It was easier to accept that the Merlin talked of in their mythology, the one usually depicted as an old man, was capable of such things; they had records of it. But apparently for most of his actions in the Court of Camelot, he appeared like the Merlin Arthur had come to know, and it was hard to imagine the first time he must have killed.

The image of Merlin, his face determined, his eyes hard, appeared in Arthur's head. He was wielding a bloodied sword, but his grip was almost slack. Behind him on the ground, Morgana was collapsed like a broken doll, something wet glistening against her dark clothing, her hair wild.

"I have to go," he said, standing so abruptly that his legs scraped against the table.

He was out of the room before she could respond, running down the hallways to somewhere, anywhere, that wasn't near her. Guilt twisted in his gut, both for leaving her and for the mental image his mind had conjured. Most of all, he was sure it wasn't horror he'd been feeling in that scenario. It was relief. Relief and arousal.

He stumbled down the corridor toward the infirmary, desperate to get his mind off the image. As soon as the door was open, he was assaulted with the sight and sound of frantic activity.

"Sir!" One of the assistants under Gaius called as soon as he'd spotted Arthur. "It's Agent Drake!"

"What?" Gaius looked out from one of the hallways that led to observation rooms. "Oh, good. Do come in Arthur. I'll be with you in just a moment." He disappeared back down the hall and Arthur was alone in the center of chaos.

Unlike the normal chaos, he didn't see an abundance of injured magic users on beds. Nor, he was grateful to note, were there any bodies under sheets. He didn't see Merlin, however, which was a little troubling. When Arthur had left the night before, Merlin was laying in one of the beds off to the left. The privacy screens for the area were shoved aside and several of the beds were in a state Gaius normally wouldn't tolerate.

Something was wrong.

"Gaius?"

Gaius came back out, and his appearance was just as alarming as everything else Arthur was noting around the infirmary. His clothes were rumpled, and there were dark patches under his eyes. There was a familiar twitch in his left eye that Arthur had become acquainted with as he usually held the title of most troublesome patient. It betrayed a level of stress and annoyance that surpassed the usual degree by a large margin.

"What happened?" Arthur demanded. Thoughts of bodies under sheets were returning to his mind and multiplying. "Where's Merlin?"

"That," Gaius replied with a heavy sigh, "is a very good question. One I don't know how to answer."

"Truthfully, I would hope." He crossed his arms and planted his feet to keep from running off madly. While the rational part of his mind was trying to argue that this situation wasn't Gaius' fault, Arthur wasn't exactly willing or able to exercise rationality at that moment because Merlin was missing. "What happened?"

"I don't know." Gaius slumped into his seat, exhaustion sitting heavy on his shoulders. "One of my assistants came to tell me that he was awake, but he was gone before I managed to get out there. We've been searching for him ever since."

"How long has he been missing?"

"Not more than an hour." The last few words practically disappeared into a yawn that Arthur had to fight not to emulate. "You know him better. Where might he go?"

Arthur considered this. There weren't many places in the magical community Merlin would know well. He'd been to the Kiln, both with Arthur and on his own, and he knew almost as much about the MIB as Arthur did. Possibly a little more since he got on so well with Gwaine. But there weren't many places Merlin might go if he woke up confused or upset. "I'm not sure. Is he in any danger? How quickly do I need to find him?"

"He shouldn't be in danger," Gaius admitted. "Strangely, the magic he absorbed disappeared from his system in a few hours. If I didn't know any better, I would say it was like his magic somehow managed to metabolize it."

Pieces were coming together in Arthur's mind, a puzzle he'd been trying to work out for far too long finally slotting into a picture he could recognize, as crazy as it sounded in his head. But talking to Gwaine had given him some of things he hadn't known before, and talking to Morgana had added another layer to the theory.

Merlin was not merely named after the warlock who fought for the safety of Camelot alongside King Arthur and his knights. In some way, he was Merlin, and he had always been Merlin.

"Do you know where he is?" Gaius repeated. "He's not in any danger, but I do want to make sure that nothing else has occurred."

"I think I know where he might be." Without saying anything else, Arthur left the infirmary, making for the elevator down to the training rooms.

Merlin would want to go somewhere familiar in all this. If, like Morgana, he was remembering things about past lives, then he would want something he knew across those lives, something that had endured the test of time. Something like the Council room.

Doubts dogged Arthur's steps as soon as he left the elevator. What if he was wrong? What if Merlin wasn't there and he couldn't find him? What if some part of this had been his fault? What if he never said anything to Merlin about what he felt?

He paused at the entrance to the room, hesitating just outside the range of view for anyone inside. He couldn't hear any voices inside, but there was the sound of panting, of the quick, shallow breaths that often accompanied anxiety attacks.

"Merlin?" he called softly, not wishing to startle him with his entrance. "May I come in?"

There was a chance it wasn't Merlin in there, that someone else had decided to spend some time in the Council room, but he was fairly confident in his assumption. Still, no one had answered.

Looking in, he saw Merlin curled up in the corner. He didn't acknowledge Arthur's presence, but Arthur had no doubt he was aware of him.

As soon as he stepped through the door, he realized another reason why Merlin had chosen this place. It was almost difficult to breathe as the air was so thick with wild magic that it was pressing at Arthur from all sides. However, in spite of how chaotic the magic was, it felt more grounded than Merlin's magic had ever felt. And it was Merlin's magic. There was no mistaking that fact. It was complete and all-encompassing and entirely Merlin. He finally understood what Princess Brígh was saying when she said that Merlin was favored by Magic.

Arthur could tell that Merlin needed space and a degree of safety at that moment, so he hung back, sitting at his place at the Council table. Absently, he ran his hands over the silver glyphs Aithusa had identified as 'Pendragon'. Magic tingled under his fingers, light and warm, just like Merlin's. There was also a weight of familiarity to it that he was close to deciphering, but didn't quite have yet.

After several minutes of silence, it was clear Merlin wasn't going to initiate any sort of conversation.

"I talked to Morgana this morning. She's doing as well as can be expected. From what she told me, she had seven other lives stuck in her head, and all of them are different. Considering you absorbed that magic, I imagine something similar is going on with you."

Merlin didn't respond. He didn't even move, but Arthur was sure he had his attention.

"I think I'd feel like I was coming undone if it were me, like someone was trying to unravel everything I knew about myself and put it back together in a way I never wanted." He paused. "Morgana said she remembered you, that you looked the same when she was Morgana Pendragon." As soon as Arthur realized what he'd said, he choked. "Of course! Arthur _Pendragon_  and Merlin _Emrys_. I should have realized that before."

Across the room, Merlin winced.

"Sorry. I should have known though. I've studied it for so long. Merlin practically built the community, and Arthur's name shouldn't have been that far from my mind. But I suppose..." Arthur looked down at the table again, at the symbols now burning under his fingers. "It's not the sort of legacy I was thinking it was. It's not because of my family or my heritage, is it? It's because of who I am, who we are."

For as exhilarating as the discovery was, there was something humbling about knowing he came from an older, wiser, and more powerful figure of the past. He couldn't help measuring up all his actions against the ideal that was King Arthur and finding himself wanting in one way or another.

Arthur had not united anything, he hadn't fought for anyone's equality, hadn't ruled a country. His choices in life had, in fact, taken him far from the path that would have led to similar accomplishments. He had chosen magic over politics, fighting in the streets against criminals rather than fighting in the Parliament building against politicians. His greatest accomplishment in all the time he had been with the MIB was, in all likelihood, finding Merlin.

That, more than anything else, had changed the face of the MIB, with their inability to track him and how he simply fit among them as if he'd been born to the community. It was forcing them to re-examine how they approached people and the limits they thought magic had. Merlin had, with one simple test, changed what they understood about magic, and every session Arthur had spent with him challenged the idea of possible in ways no one had yet imagined.

Merlin's head came up. He still wasn't saying anything, but his expression was intense and searching.

"If you want me to—and you don't have to if you don't feel comfortable doing it," Arthur added, "you can tell me about what you remember."

Merlin looked away. The silence stretched on, and Arthur thought he might have taken it a step too far.

"There are sixteen different people in my head, and I can remember how each and every one of them died."

It wasn't what Arthur had been expecting. Morgana had mentioned that Merlin killed her, but he hadn't connected that to the idea that she remembered her death. "Oh." There was nothing else he could say. It wasn't the sort of thing that could be fixed or changed with words.

"Several of them died young, one was killed the day he was born. Only three of them reached adulthood, and one of those was the Merlin you always talk about."

Arthur glanced at the seat beside him, and at the markings for 'Emrys'. "I stumbled into that realization."

"He's heavy in my head. It's like he knows who I am and what he is, but there's so much of him, so much he's done and felt, that it's bleeding over into me."

"Morgana was mentioning something similar, except she didn't seem to be aware of what was going on. Maybe that has something to do with Gwaine's theory."

Merlin frowned. "Gwaine's theory?"

"That the crystal was made for a specific purpose, and only Merlin—or you, I suppose—would be able to use it."

"It was supposed to help me remember, to be able to find..." Finally, Merlin looked up again. "Well, to find you."

Arthur snorted. "Well, it did that, even if it wasn't quite the way you would have intended for it to happen."

"At least you knew about magic up front this time." Slowly, Merlin uncurled himself. He didn't move any closer to the table, not yet, but he was finally more open. "He's not at all like people think of him. Me. Fuck, this whole thing is a mess."

"It is a bit difficult to parse out. Especially since I don't have the common experience for it."

"He was Arthur's servant. I don't know if that's in the stories you know, but his magic wasn't acknowledged or even welcome in Camelot. He didn't like Arthur at first. Thought he was a stuck up prat."

"I get that reaction a lot," Arthur admitted. "Especially among the trainees. There's a reason Gwaine says I'm a hard ass."

"Merlin loved him. In spite of everything that happened. Or maybe because of it. Either way, it didn't really matter. He was willing to die for him, to use his magic in direct conflict with the law to save him. He grew to believe in Arthur and everything he could be, and I think Arthur grew in response to that belief in some ways. By the time he took the throne, he was nothing like his father. He was fair and just, and he didn't pursue the magical community with the intent to wipe them out." Merlin looked away again. "He really loved him. More than he should have. More than Arthur ever knew."

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. He didn't want to dare hope. Morgana had wanted little to do with the woman she had rattling around in her head, whose hatred had infected her relationships in ways the woman he had grown up with would never want. He didn't want Merlin to be the same, to hate the person he remembered being for the things they felt for the other version of Arthur.

It caught him off guard again, the realization that he was somehow connected to King Arthur. His history had always had some significance, but it had more to do with who his mother and her family were than him. But King Arthur wouldn't have been connected to the Sangster family as he died without offspring. This was not a matter of genetics. It was, as Aithusa had described it, a matter of destiny.

"I wish I could remember," he whispered. "I wish I understood what it was like then, how he thought and why he did the things he did."

"It's better if you don't." Merlin was still looking away, his arms folded tightly against his body. "It wasn't— He was less than subtle about it at times."

Arthur's heart froze. "Is that— Do you have a problem with that?"

"I don't want you to think it's because of that."

"What?"

Merlin didn't answer right away. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped towards the table. The magic in the air, which Arthur had grown accustomed to, suddenly vanished, and he was left gasping in its absence. If there was any doubt that his Merlin was _the_ Merlin, it died in that moment as his partner displayed so tight a control on his magic that it virtually disappeared from his sense.

This was what Arthur had missed in their first meeting. The instinctive need to hide who he was and what he could do was ingrained so deeply in his soul that he couldn't help suppressing his magic to the point that it didn't even register. And yet Merlin’s magic so much a part of who he was that it made him seem completely unremarkable to anyone who met him that was not sensitive to magic, which likely did him a disservice in life as he was trying to get a job and support himself.

"I told myself I had to tell you," Merlin began. He sat down in Greer's seat. "But I need you to understand that it wasn't because of what I remembered. I understand if you don't want to work with me after this..."

"After what?"

"I'm attracted to you. I have been since the first day we met. I don't know if it was magic or destiny or just hormones, but I was drawn to you then, and I still am. I can't lie and say the memories haven't added something to it, but I know that I loved you before I remembered any of it." He was staring down at the table, as if he didn't dare look up.

"Merlin."

Merlin flinched, and Arthur had to wonder what those memories told him that he was bracing himself for rejection and abuse.

"I can't think of a single reason why we wouldn't be able to work together after this. And if Morgana had any objections to this, she would have said something the first day, when she realized how far gone I was and am on you."

Merlin looked up at him, confusion and hope and fear cycling across his face. "What?"

"Apparently, everyone who saw us together knew we'd end up together. Everyone but us. Wish they'd have said something earlier." Arthur chuckled. "We think along the same lines, because I was determined to tell you today, no matter what happened." He stood and moved around the table until he was standing beside Merlin. "I suppose that just leaves one thing."

"What's that?"

"Merlin Caspar, will you go out with me?"

Merlin blinked up at him for a fraction of a second. Arthur could see the exact moment the words registered, as Merlin's face lifted and a soft smile painted itself across his mouth. "I think I would enjoy that, yes."


	14. Chapter 14

The Council of Magic was gathering for the fourth time in two years. For the Sidhe, this was an unusual sort of frequency that they didn't often entertain. Brígh didn't mind as much as her peers, having worked closely with mortals long enough to understand the strangeness of their fleeting lives. Still, she had existed long enough to see the same souls walking the same paths time and again with differing results. It was, she had come to know, the defining characteristic of humanity, magical or not, that they could take the same actions and end up somewhere new simply because of their placement in time.

Emrys and Pendragon, for example, were in a place she never would have imagined they'd be if she took the actions and circumstances of their previous lives into consideration. And yet they were thriving.

And late. She remembered only now that she was sitting in her place in the Council room that they were going to be late on this particular day, as would most of the Council as they celebrated the binding of Morgana Sangster and Leon Westbrook. She regretted choosing to leave her usual entourage behind if only for the lack of company she was currently experiencing. But this was meant to be a Council meeting with their allies, and the cloud of Lesser Sidhe that followed her were less than helpful in such endeavors, perceiving any moment she gave ground for a compromise as a personal attack against her being.

If her siblings thought her more important, they would have ensured that she had attendants loyal to all of them in her entourage to spy on her actions, but they cared little for the world beyond Avalon, and so she was left to her own thoughts and whims. As long as she never promised to open Avalon to the mortals, they never cared what she did when she was outside of their border.

The sour taste of her own bitterness at their disregard for her efforts sat heavy on her tongue.

"I thought I might find you here."

Brígh turned to see Aithusa stepping into the room and unfolding from the mortal form they borrowed. The perpetual spiciness of dragons assaulted her senses as the bitterness melted away.

"The mortal perception of time is difficult to measure," she protested.

Aithusa chuckled, tinging the air with the syrupy sweetness of amusement. "It's quite the contrary, I've found. They have been devising ways to measure time for longer than you or I have existed."

"It's messy. Affected by perception contrary desires." Humans had so many phrases for it, how time dragged or sped away depending on the activity one was involved in. She'd never had occasion to observe humans during these periods, to see whether it was merely a matter of perception, or if they were unconsciously warping their local reality to conform to their unconscious thought of how time should move.

"And the Sidhe are not affected by their perception in similar ways? I seem to recall that some entrances to Avalon are closed unless one of your siblings wishes it so. And Celyn has earned himself a reputation among the longer-lived for his fickle nature and changeability. Many wonder why he was made the Gatekeeper of Avalon in the first place."

Brígh sighed. "He was the only one who would take it seriously. For all the trouble he causes, he does keep it safe. Our paths are secure and unblemished by the unending march of mortal consumption."

"And so the humans have their failings, the Sidhe have theirs, and the dragons are not immune to the effect either."

"Your children are not with you today?" Usually Sotrios and Efthymia were mere steps behind Aithusa. It was unusual to see them without the twins. Each had their own distinct flavor to her senses. Sotrios, beneath the spicy taste of dragon, had a richer flavor, something thick and creamy. Efthymia was tart. Blunt, like her nature, but not terribly biting, like lemon without its acidity. Aithusa's flavor was different, almost like blood or copper. While their children were softer, brought up on the tales of war without actually suffering one, Aithusa demanded attention with their taste, drawing Brígh back to the days when Avalon was closed to mortals for fear of what they would do to beings who existed and subsisted on magic. 

"Sotrios chose to stand guard over the wedding, and Efthymia wanted to stay with him. They will come later with the others." Aithusa moved around the table to their place. "I know that you have much you wanted to discuss and we have not yet had the chance. Now we are alone, and you are free to ask whatever you wish."

"Mortal bindings are strange. Their lives are so short, and yet they tie themselves to one another in spite of the loss they will experience in the future." In all her contact with them, humans only served to surprise and mystify her with their determination to exist beyond themselves. That was the only way she could explain the drive they felt to make connections and fight against the tide of time.

"There was a wise human who once said that it was better to have loved and lost than to live one's life without love. Humans are conscious of their mortality and the mortality of those around them, but they choose to embrace the time they have with those they are closest. In some ways, they can transcend even us in all this." Wistfulness tasted like cotton, and it was a familiar sensation on her tongue, both from herself and from Aithusa. While they never desired to be human themselves, they had shared with one another the wish to have some of the fearlessness of the humans, to go armed with that against those who stood in the way of their work.

"And Emrys and Pendragon?"

Aithusa laughed, a full and reverberating sound that filled the room. Brígh's tongue was drowning in a knowing sort of mirth, as if this was a joke they alone knew the end of. "They already show the step beyond what even normal humans experience. They were bound together before I was called from my egg, and I have no doubt they will continue past even my death, in whatever form that continuance takes."

Brígh narrowed her eyes at Aithusa, suspicion sitting like sulfur in her mouth. "You have meddled again."

"No. I learned my lesson in that respect."

"You have not," she accused, as though she could not taste the truth in it. "You just hide it better."

Aithusa looked down at her with annoyance, but she had long since managed to stand up under the attention of those larger than her. Her elder sister had a fiercer glare when she thought Brígh had taken her favorite headdress. Even after she had managed to convince Sorcha that she hadn't taken it, the threat of her wrath as it was meted out on Dairine was far more frightening than anything Aithusa would ever do to her.

"Perhaps you have not meddled," Brígh allowed. She was more willing than her siblings to admit an error, especially when she could taste lies in the air like the clouds of gunpowder they were. "But you know something, something you know I don't know. What is it?"

"Allow me to ask something first."

Brígh sighed but nodded. She wanted answers more than she valued any degree of untouchability she had. And it wasn't as though Aithusa was truly asking for much.

"When I came to you for your help, why did you decide to help me?"

Brígh blinked. She well remembered the first and only time Aithusa had ever come to her for something. It was in the wake of a poor day for mortals and all magical kind, a day when Aithusa had wreaked havoc on innocents and risked the safety and security of the magical community. It was the worst day she could think of for either of them, and Brígh had been in the mortal world on the day Merlin died.

That in and of itself was terrible. All the world was thrown into mourning the moment Merlin breathed his last. Magic was weaker, darker, and Brígh hadn't been able to cope with the feeling of wrongness. It was like life was being siphoned out of everyone to cope with the loss of Merlin, and it still wasn't enough. She had no other way to explain it, but everything faded the moment Merlin was no more, and it kept fading over the years with every visit she made to the mortal world.

But the day Aithusa had burned their villages, Magic had screamed and the effect was felt through the worlds. Even deep in Avalon, it rang as though it originated there. It was in response to that sensation that they attacked. Merlin had been killed yet again, and the forces of the world were in uproar, crying out for vengeance that their avatar had been murdered. He had been murdered. This was something they tried not to mention, that there was someone or something in the world that knew Merlin was being born into it over and over again, and it sought him out to kill him. They still weren't sure who or what that had been, or if they even knew they were killing Magic every time they did it.

"I was... curious." Brígh confessed. "And perhaps a little vain, thinking I could play with souls in the way you asked of me. And you came to me as a friend."

Sidhe of her station did not have friends. It was naive and silly, and any other Sidhe wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of any friendship she extended to them. And yet the mortals craved it, devoted stories to it, built entire civilizations, all in the effort of connecting with one another. She had been dragged into this state of being by the first Council of Magic, by a world-weary but determined Merlin who refused her apathy. These were the days when Kilgharrah still flew from his mountain home, when Aithusa was a silent child, and the Sidhe gave little thought to the mortals except how their actions impacted magic.

"Tell me again how you managed it," Aithusa demanded. "Tell me what you did to the souls."

Brígh frowned. "I was a student then. You cannot hold the mistakes of the inexperienced against them when they actively work to better their understanding."

"I am not judging what you did, I am curious about the process."

Brígh wasn't sure she quite believed that, but decided it wasn't worth arguing about. Aithusa could not affect souls with their magic; that took a power outside the mortal world, a power the Sidhe themselves rarely dared to wield. There was hubris in the attempt she'd made, though she wouldn't admit that to Aithusa. The dragon thought her a capable and powerful friend and Brígh rather liked that distinction where she was considered fairly average among her siblings. She was more powerful than regular Sidhe, but Aithusa's estimation of the power she possessed among her siblings was greatly inflated. She never told the stories, but she never bothered to correct any assumptions anyone else made.

"Touching souls is a difficult thing," Brígh told them. "It's taxing and, if done wrong, it can be painful for the soul and the one doing it. I had never had cause to do it myself before you asked it of me, but others had tried and I didn't want to make their mistakes. The only way to do it is to connect with the Wellspring, which is why many failed in their attempts."

Aithusa frowned. "You never mentioned this Wellspring before."

"You never really asked." She sighed. "Although, to be entirely truthful, if you had asked, I would not have told you for how deeply it unsettled me. The Wellspring is the place where magic flows through Avalon and into the mortal world. It is not a place we are meant to go, and those who do often receive grave punishment meted out by Magic itself."

"Then why would you? Simply because I asked you? Why would you risk that?"

Brígh blinked at the unexpected anger, leaning back away from Aithusa. Anger was not something she usually encountered with them. Annoyance and smugness occasionally, mirth and sorrow with more frequency, but rarely ever anger, and never over something she had done for them. There was an undercurrent of fear as well. She could taste it in the air. Tilting her head to one side, she stared up at Aithusa. "Why are you afraid?"

"You could have killed yourself because I asked you to help me. I know your kind are not incapable of being killed. Kilgharrah told me several had been killed in the Purge before Avalon closed its gates. Why would our friendship cause you to take such a risk?"

"I don't know." Brígh had once resolved never to worry about what she did for her friends. In the days before she called them her friends, they were willing to guide her, to explain the things she didn't know by virtue of the imposed isolation.

Merlin had been the one to tell her what friends were and what they meant to one another, bearded and saturating the air with cotton-flavored wistfulness. _"After all,"_ he'd said, _"you never know the lengths you'll go to for them until you come up against the impossible and try to beat it anyway."_

"I wasn't hurt," she tried to explain. "Magic knew what I was trying to do."

Brígh was shaking, as if it had just happened so deeply had it affected her.

"What happened?"

"Magic had a voice when I stepped into the Wellspring because it borrowed my own. It told me I would be allowed to continue what you asked of me without consequence, but I was to never attempt it again. It showed me what would happen if I tried." There was some distance between the images it had shown her because she had never attempted to enter the Wellspring again, but they still lingered in her mind. The most horrifying was the image of her magic slowly leeching away until she didn't have the energy to even open her eyes, trapped in the terrifying darkness as her life bled away into it. "I will never do it again."

"And what did you do?"

Brígh sighed. "I wasn't sure how I was supposed to accomplish what you wanted, and Magic offered no suggestions, so I took what I knew of the situation and attempted to link Merlin and Arthur's souls together so Merlin wouldn't return until Arthur was in the world."

Aithusa laughed. Brígh frowned at the heavier taste of amusement, certain she hadn't said anything as amusing as Aithusa seemed to find it.

"You asked," they began, once they managed to get their laughter under control, "what I knew that you did not. Truthfully, I didn't know any more than you did what I was asking for when I came to you. The end of the effect is what we have seen blossom between them. Their souls are tied together, far deeper than any mortal soul has ever been connected to another, so much that they have recently discovered the ability to share magic between them. I have a theory that the only reason Arthur is in possession of magic is because he has been blessed by his connection with Merlin, who is, as we know, Magic made flesh."

"Perhaps. But what does that mean for them, for the future of Magic?"

Aithusa smiled once more. "I suppose we shall have to see. But then, the Council is part of forging that future, so you and I will both be here to watch what happens. As for Merlin and Arthur, you have truly made them one, and that, I think, shall serve us all well."

As if they were waiting for their cue to enter, Arthur and Merlin arrived, leading with them the rest of the Council.

"Oh!" Merlin said when he spotted them. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not too long, I don't think," Brígh assured him, relishing the decadent chocolatey taste of love they had brought with them. "But if it was long, there was good conversation to be had."

For a moment, she could see it, the way Merlin and Arthur's souls twined around each other, melding and flowing apart before melding again. It was a gift from Magic, it had to be, showing her what a vain and rash decision had become with its guidance, how this must have been the plan before any of them thought to meddle in mortal and immortal affairs.

"Shall we begin?" Arthur asked, taking his place at the table beside Merlin. The others had dispersed to their seats, looking expectantly to the Pendragon.

"Yes," Aithusa said, traces of iron respect and lilac deference in their tone. "Let us begin."


End file.
